#but you also console yourself with their misfortune

[crepuscular-haze]

the psychosexual tension between you and the other people at the baggage claim who are also starting to believe they’ll never see their suitcase again

[ghostboneswrites2]

Lots of love if you write this, and lots of love if you don’t!

Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?

Note: this is a cute idea! I might write a different version of this one later <3 not sure how I feel about it. This ended up a lot more angst and has a lot more of an argument than I originally intended tbh

Another note: I usually write in past tense but this one has both past and present tense. It’s lightly proofread but I apologize if I missed any errors in past vs present tense!

Summary: Every since he first saw you he’s seemingly had it out for you. All that frustration comes to a head when you have to go rescue him from the side of the road.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Daryl bring a Dickson, profanity, TWD typical non graphic violence, guns

        Daryl stepped into the RV for a gun, shaking his head with annoyance at the sight of your failure. Well, multiple failures. See, you started with a standard Glock, but the recoil spring in that one was too hard to set in place. Then, you switched to the Beretta, where you found your current firing pin spring issue. 

        Daryl stared down at all the bits and pieces sprawled on the table in front of you. 

        “Y’gon’ take every damn gun apart ‘til we ain’t got none when we need ‘em?” He complained. You glared. 

        “Well, excuse me if taking apart guns to clean them wasn’t my hobby of choice before shit hit the fan.” You shot back. 

        That day was the beginning of a long standing feud between the two of you. A feud that was frankly one sided. You never had a problem with the smelly hunter. In fact, you often made meager attempts at impressing him or even going as far as to be friendly. Unfortunately, you were always met with rude snark and bitterness. 

        One time, at the CDC, you had a little too much wine with dinner. You were stumbling through the hall, attempting to find the room you had previously claimed, when you had the misfortune of walking right into Daryl. 

        “Oh! I’m sorry.” You giggled. 

        “Damn it.” He grumbled with an annoyed sigh. “Can’t ya watch where the hell you’re goin’?”

        “I’m sorry, really—“ You tried to apologize again but he had no intentions of hearing it.

        “Don’t drink if ya can’t handle yourself.” He snapped. “Got the dead roamin’ the damn earth and you get shit-faced the first damn chance ya get!”

        In your drunken, emotional state, you sniffled and cried quietly to yourself that night. Why was he always so damn mean? You missed your friends and family so much, and you couldn’t even bare to think about your cat.

        When Sophia got lost everything was worse. You’d offer to help with the search and you’d always hear the same response; “I already got one little kid to look for. I don’t need two.” 

        You also tried to console him when Sophia’s body came staggering out of that barn. 

        “You’re a great tracker, Daryl. We were all just too late.” You’d say. 

        “Ain’t no we! You didn’t do shit but stay back and twiddle your fuckin’ thumbs! Get on somewhere. I don’t need your caudlin’.”

        When the farm fell, he’d always snap at you for lagging behind the group when you were on the move. You couldn’t help it. You were so tired and hungry.  

        “Keep up, damn it. Can’t afford to keep slowin’ down!” 

        When you were all clearing the prison, he wouldn’t even let you shoot. 

        “Jus’ stay back and hit the fence. Distract ‘em. You can’t shoot for shit.” 

        Since then, you reasoned to just avoid him. You’d never met anyone who could make you feel so bad about yourself. You decided to stop asking yourself why he hated you. You weren’t going to try and change it anymore. You were just going to exist the best you could, as far away from him as the prison yard would allow. 

          Which brings us to now. Inventory is your main task at the prison. Some people make it hard. Carl never checks out his weapons, nor does Daryl. But with Carl losing his mom and Daryl being such an ass, you never say anything. You just make notes on the weapons they’re most likely to take without telling you. 

        Beth sometimes grabs formula without letting you know, but taking care of a baby is hard work for a teenage girl to be doing full time. You have no intentions of nagging her. So, as usual, you just check your inventory every day and report to Rick or Hershel, usually the latter. 

        When your inventory is done for the afternoon, you decide to find Carol and help her with laundry. Maggie is on the tower today with Glenn, so she’s all by herself out there scrubbing everyone’s smelly clothes. 

        “Hey. Need some help?” You ask her, pressing your lips into a thin smile. She returns the same expression and nods. 

        “Please? For such a small group we sure go through a lot of clothes.”

        “No problem.” You say as you get down on your knees and begin scrubbing and ringing out a pair of jeans. “Jeez. These really stink.” You mumble. Carol giggles. 

        “Daryl.” She sighs. 

        “Does he ever shower?” 

        “I mean.. never would be a strong word. Rarely, though, that might be the accurate description.” She jokes. You chuckle.

        “Hey, (Y/N)?” Rick asks as he approaches you. You look up from Daryl’s stained jeans. “Could you take a car out to the main road? Daryl’s broken down out there. He can’t carry all those supplies back.” 

        “Me?” You raise your eyebrows, tossing a quick glance to Carol. If anyone is accustomed to your strained relationship with the archer, it’s her. Daryl would often complain about you to her, and she’d just as often give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder when she’d notice his harsh treatment. 

        “Well, yeah, if ya don’t mind.” Rick nods. He is a little more oblivious to how rude Daryl can be toward you, but he isn’t  blind to the visible tension the two of you share. He just assumes it was never that serious. 

        “Um.. Sure.” You shrug. A pit in your stomach is already festering, growing bigger as it feeds on your anxiety. You had been very successful at avoiding Daryl since you’d been at the prison. The only solace you find is in the fact that you had grown more confident since you guys found this place. Being in charge of inventory gave you a much needed sense of control. From there, you realized just how much you really did have control over, and soon enough the scared girl you once were had become a productive young woman. Now, you have to put that confidence to the test, facing the man who kind of stole what little faith in yourself you had to begin with. You vow to yourself that today will be the day you stand your ground to Daryl Dixon.

        You brush off your jeans and accept the keys from Rick before making your way to the vehicle parked near the gates. When you start the engine, Carl drags open one gate, then the other, and you head out. You notice Daryl right away when you make it to the main road. He’s smoking a cigarette, leaned up against the red truck he had taken into town. 

         You can’t help but wonder why he was on a run by himself to begin with. It isn’t like Rick to send anyone off on their own. Then again, knowing Daryl, it’s not that hard to figure out why he might be a solo kind of guy. 

        You pull the car up beside the truck. He glances up at the vehicle but immediately looks back down at the ground when he realizes it’s you. He makes sure to seem indifferent. 

        Instead of letting his lack of a greeting (or gratitude) phase you, you just step out of the driver’s seat and pop the trunk open before approaching the bed of the truck and beginning to transfer all of his loot into the car. When the trunk fills up, you resort to packing the back seat. 

        By the time Daryl finishes his cigarette, he notices there are a few more items still in the truck. He huffs and impatiently grabs the three items, shoving them in the back seat and slamming the door shut, mumbling something about you taking your sweet time. 

        “What was that?” You speak up before sitting back down in the driver’s seat. 

        “Move over. I’m drivin’.”

        “That’s not what you said, first of all. And no. I drove here just fine, I can drive back.” You roll your eyes. 

        “Quit bein’ difficult damn it! I’m tired. Been workin’ all day out there riskin’ my neck.” He snaps. 

        “I’ve been working too.” You shrug, sitting down and starting the engine. 

        “Scribblin’ on a clipboard ain’t nothin’ like what I do.” He argues, still standing by the driver side, waiting for you to give in and let him drive. You won’t, though. You won’t cave in and bow to him like a puppy with its tail between its legs like you used to. He lost the privilege of your kindness — or maybe cowardice — a while ago. 

        “Actually, I woke up and spent two hours on the fence impaling skulls, then I helped Hershel hoe the ground for spring crops before I scrubbed the common area of the cell block on my hands and knees. Then I did inventory, then I washed your smelly ass jeans. So, no, I don’t just scribble on a clip board.” You correct him. “And, while we’re on that subject, you’re supposed to check out your fucking weapons. Would make the scribbling part a lot easier for me.” 

        He clenches his jaw and his fists at your insubordination. 

        “I don’t know when you grew a smart ass mouth but I ain’t got time for it so quit your bitchin’ and move outta my seat.” He demands. 

        “Or you could stop wasting time and just get in the passenger seat.” You roll your eyes. 

        “God, do you ever stop bein’ such a damn burden?!” He shouts. You run your tongue over your teeth and nod. 

        “Burden?” You repeat. 

         “Yeah. A burden.” He drawls. “As in, makin’ shit harder for everyone around you.” 

        “Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully. “Okay.” 

        With that simple response, you shut off the engine, toss the keys on the ground beside him, and stand up. With your knife in your belt for protection, you start walking toward the woods. You realize that he is absolutely unbearable. You won’t subject yourself to even a five minute car ride with him. 

        “Where the hell are you goin’?!” He calls out after you. You ignore him. “C’mon, (Y/N), get in the damn car!” 

        By this point you’re blending into the trees and he’s losing sight of you. He groans and slams the car door shut, snatching the keys off the asphalt before he marches off after you. He swears when he gets his hands on you, he’s dragging you back by your ankles and cramming you in the trunk with the rest of the shit he looted today.

        “(Y/N)!” He shouts. You sigh. 

        “Fuck off! You wanted to drive so bad, be my guest! Whole car to yourself!” You call back. 

        “Quit bein’ so damn—“

        You whip around, eyes blaring with fury. 

        “So what? Burdensome? Annoying? Stupid?” You cut him off, recalling some of the insults he had bestowed upon you in the past. “I’m so fucking sick of you! All I ever did was try to be nice to you! And all you ever gave me in return was cruelty!”

         You’re shaking now. He’s stopped a few feet away from you, silent as you unleash your pent up frustrations on him. 

        “You know,” you begin, not as loud and shrilled as before. “I didn’t even want to come help you. Because I knew it would be like this. I only came because I was asked to. So you wouldn’t have to try to carry shit back to the prison and go through more trouble. I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t try to be friendly or otherwise vexing. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t good enough. If my presence alone makes you so miserable, then I’ll walk.” 

        With that, you turn around and start storming back toward the prison. 

        “(Y/N)—“ He tries to protest but it just triggers another wave of anger. 

        “What?!” You throw your hands up. “What did I ever do to you?! Just leave me alone!” You shout, turning back to him. “Why do you hate me?!” 

        “I don’t hate you!” He fires back. 

        You scoff and cross your arms. “Sure seems like it.” 

        “Well if ya would just listen to me I wouldn’t get so mad!” 

        “I’m not your fucking dog, Dixon! I shouldn’t have to listen to you for you to treat me like a human being.” 

        “Treat you like what?” He scoffs. “All I ever did was try and look out for ya! Ya can’t do anything right! How the hell am I supposed to keep ya safe if ya can’t follow a simple fuckin’ direction?”

        “Look out for me? How? By making me feel like shit about myself? Reminding me every chance you get how much you just can’t fucking stand me? You don’t treat anyone else like that. Nobody.” Your eyes are watering now. The rage is slowly wearing down into what it really is at its core: hurt. He hurt you time and time again and you always tried to make it right, even when you had done nothing wrong. Shit, (Y/N), get it together. Don’t let him see you like this. 

        “Well why the hell are ya so worried ‘bout what I think?” He asks. 

        “I don’t know!” You snap, turning away from him again. You hug yourself and sniffle. “Just leave me alone.” You beg quietly. “Go drive yourself back. I’d rather walk.” 

        He stands there silently, mouth opening and closing like he has words to say but can’t find them in his sea of thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you cry. He doesn’t even know why you piss him off so much. He does know that seeing you there, hugging yourself as your shoulders rise and fall with silent whimpers makes him feel like shit. He steps toward you slowly, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. You flinch at his touch and he retracts his arm. 

        “I don’t hate ya.” He finally speaks. When you don’t respond he realizes he has to continue. “I just don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

        “Yeah, right.” You mumble. “All you do is hurt me.”

        He swallows a dry lump. Is that true? 

        “I don’t mean to.” He insists. “I just.. Ya don’t belong in this world. You’re nice. Ya ain’t violent, you’re pret—“ He stops. Your ears perk up. Was he about to call you pretty?

         “What I’m tryin’ to say is… Ever since I first saw ya I knew ya had to be looked after — kept safe. Ya ain’t like most people. I’d feel too bad if ya… If ya got hurt.” He admits softly. You turn your head a little, peeking behind you to try and catch a glimpse of him. 

        His hand finds your shoulder again and this time you don’t shrug him away. You sniffle and wipe your eye clean of tears. 

        “So you’re mean to me to protect me?” You summarize. He realizes how stupid that must sound. 

        “I just get frustrated when I see how vulnerable ya are. Can’t clean a gun and put it back together, can’t aim to save your life, can’t—“

        “Couldn’t.” You correct him. “I couldn’t do those things, but I’ve learned how. You just haven’t been around to see it. Or encourage it.” 

        He nods. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles. “Maybe you could, uh, show me sometime.” 

        “Show you what?” You turn back to him. 

        “Dunno.” He shrugs. It’s a lot harder for him to speak freely when you’re actually looking at him. “What ya can do.”

         “Oh.” You nod. “Maybe you could stop being such an asshole.” You suggest. 

        He smirks a little. 

        “I can try.”

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[lamamasjamas]

Love at First Sight (1/9)

A/n: I had a dream, and this is what happened. It's the breeding kink for me smh. Also, my requests are open! If you read this before you probably have lolz. Consider this a reboot.

Warnings: Dark!Din!, dub-con, stalker behavior, breeding/ pregnancy kink, kidnapping, smut, heavily implied forced pregnancy, Dark fic!

Love at First Sight Masterlist

He meets you at some scroungy run of the mill planet barely making by. A part of his heart aches for the way you beg for more credits as you finish your shift at the droid restoration center.

The desperation in your tone prompts him to start to watch you from afar.

As the days pass and he purposely doesn’t catch his bounty he starts to get enamored with the idea of you. He watches as you make your way home, stopping by to pass some younglings some fruits from occupied merchant's stands.

You entertain their chatter, their games and their childish squabbles. The children found solace in you and in some way, they were a distraction to your misfortunes.

The way you treat your village's younglings with kindness makes him fawn over the idea of possibly giving you kids of your own.

You are wholly unaware of his stare. Too lost in your desperate need for credits and the worry of not having food or at the very least rations on your plate for the days ahead of you. You were glad you didn’t have any family. Not even a partner. You only had to work for yourself.

He was glad too. There would be less people that would miss you. He takes advantage of your desperation. He doesn’t feel any sort of remorse about that.

You started to find packets of rations on your doorstep frequently. You���ve even started to gain some weight because of it. At least enough to make your ribs stay hidden underneath your skin.

Din watches each day as you start to smile more, your cheeks were fuller, and your natural form was filling out. A sense of pride fills him. He did that. He’s the one making you happy and keeping you satisfied and well fed.

A month in he starts to get antsy. He suddenly has the deep need to touch you. To feel your warmth. Watching you wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

You noticed his every move. The whole village did. Mandalorians were thought to be the best hunters in the galaxy and yet, it seemed as if he couldn't find his target anywhere.

It was frequent discussion amongst the adults. Why was he here? Who was he looking for? At times, you'd turn your head to stare. His vizor would pointedly look elsewhere. His hand would twitch, and it felt like he caught your gaze.

You'd walk past him quickly, striding with your bag, head down and breath quickened. You're sure he didn't even notice you, why would he?

He starts to dream. At first, they were short and sweet, holding hands and caressing cheeks. Things seem to divulge from there. Passionate kisses turn to hot touches. Then that leads to him breeding you over his console, his bunk, the riverbank where you wash your clothes in the middle of night, thinking that you have a semblance of privacy from the village, the children, your boss... Anywhere where he could have you, he did. In his dreams.

He always thought you looked beautiful. If only he saw you fucked out of your mind, babbling his name and pleading him to expand his clan together. Then you would look like a goddess.

The minute he walked up to you asking you for directions to a bar, which he’s been to multiple times at this point, you smiled at him. He ignored the way your eyes frantically looked around, how the rest of the villagers stumbled away.

You were just nervous. You heart was probably beating out of your chest not from fear, but from adoration.

He liked the way you easily trusted him. It was as if your soul was meant to be intertwined with his. You were basically eating at the palm of his hand, he thought.

“Can you lead me there?” He asks after you told him where to go, pointing towards the other direction, heel already turned to walk away. You nodded but hesitated. You're pretty sure he could find it himself; you didn't say anything to retort.

You chuckle to yourself as some of the children from your town wave at you frantically and he wants to have that sound embedded in his mind forever. He looks to you and heat rises up your neck. The visor was pointed so directly at you, his gaze was all encompassing.

Once you’ve made it to the front doors of the town bar you shift on your feet. He watches as you play with your tunic, lifting it slightly and showing some of the skin of your belly.

He has to keep himself calm as he imagines it round and full. Bursting and swollen with his child or children. His stance widens slightly as he feels the front of his pants get hotter.

“Here we are-“ “Would you like to have a drink?” You sputter as he speaks over you.

You chuckle awkwardly. “I don’t drink. Sorry.” He doesn’t stop staring at you. You fidget nervously when he doesn’t make a move to go inside. By himself.

“I guess I could just order a juice… or something.”

He asks you about yourself. You respond as vague as possible. It was alright, he already knew everything about you. He assumed you were just shy.

You were slightly taken aback by his persistent behavior. Your heart warmed at the thought that he was interested in you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

He was dangerous. He was strapped full of weapons.

You didn’t think much of it after a while, when he spoke to you in a soft gentle voice. He had a dry sense of humor, an awkward disposition. The fear turned to intrigue, and he told you he was planning on leaving planet in the next few weeks.

That prompted you to lead him to your apartment. You didn’t want a relationship, not with a bounty hunter at least, you just wanted some company.

He was a passionate lover, you thought. He always focused on your pleasure and then his. He whispered the dirtiest things to you. Half mumbling and stuttering about how he was breeding you and stuffing you so full of his cum that he was going to get you pregnant with his babies.

You didn’t fully understand his words, but you liked the thought of them, only the thought. You just didn’t know he meant them from his heart, and that the moment your passionate night ended his plans for you were solidified.

Company, you got. Every day he would knock at your door accompanying you for breakfast and sometimes staying until dinner. In your ignorance you thought he was just lonely. You wanted to see him as a fling, you thought he did too.

One day he sounded exceptionally happy. The whole town had isolated themselves inside their homes. That very morning, the Mandalorian finally hunted.

Blaster fires could be heard resounding from the market area, patches of residue were left on walls and stalls. He showed at your front door, holding a bag, pooling with red underneath it.

He asked you to come with him to turn in the bounty. On Nevarro. You were confused, you refused even as he pleaded. You didn’t notice the needle he pulled out of his pouch as he tread closer to you.

No one was out. No one would have done anything even if they saw your unconscious body fall into his steady arms.

You woke up suddenly in a ship’s bunk. Afraid and disgruntled you sat up only to slump against cold metallic panels. The bunk door opened and revealed the Mandalorian, without his helmet and carrying a small green child.

Your head was full of cotton, you could barely move, you couldn't speak.

The child heaved out of his arms and stepped onto the cot in front of you. He gurgled as if saying hello. You stared in shock. The Mandalorian smiled at you warmly, pressing his palm to your cheek and trailing it to your stomach.

“Say hello to your mother, ad.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

can i request being titus' basement wife, just kinda like soft dark yandere vibes, idk i trust you dawg 🤭🤭

Tough Love [Sequence #1]

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Soft!Yandere!Titus x fem!Reader

WORDS: 834.

WARNING: mentions of kidnapping, dark!Titus, toxic behaviour (possessiveness), reference to stockholm syndrome, power play, dominant!titus, praise kink.

A/N - thank you for this request, my dearest Bel! apologies for getting back to this so so late. hope you enjoy xox

At first, it would be a “tough love” type of situation: you deeply resented Titus for the misfortune he had brought upon you. He had spoiled you of your own independent life, solely for what you could only presume, was to pursue his own personal interests, and you resisted him for that.

On many occasions you tried desperately, despite all odds working against your favour, to escape. Sometimes configuring a plan, although most of the time you would wing the escape.

You were in his territory, however: heavily confined and chained to his will. The chances of succeeding were slim to nothing, and this was proven many times.

Anyone could’ve easily been fooled: despite his well-rounded and meekly approach, he had a darker demeanour about him that you had now known.

"Try that act again with me, and I won't be so lenient next time, Y/N."

He frightened you in those moments, to consider what a man of his strengths could be capable of, considering the strenuous lengths he went to, to have you all to himself.

Although, these moments would be sparred, for in a few short hours later, after Titus had some thought to process, he would return with an apologetic look, expressing his guilt towards you.

You noticed that he had greatly opposed the idea of hurting you: having no intention to harm you purposefully, only wishing for you to favour him, as he did with you.

He wanted to be loved, and you were the apple of his eye.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my sweet thing. You shouldn't have done that. You should not have done that... Look at what you made me do, silly girl."

Whether he was profusely muttering to himself or you: you could not say with certainty.

Although, it showed a completely different, jarring side to him, it had blindsided you. He could and was often a kind and gentle soul. A man who took his time and effort to console you, and yet, step a foot over his line and he would remind you, exactly who was in charge.

Two-sides to the same coin.

The more Titus was around you, the more familiar you became, growing heavily reliant on him, it could potentially have been his efforts to persuade you to love him. Make you believe, he was all that you required, that he could satisfy you and only him.

He in return, grew comfortable as the feelings from your behalf, began to gradually show and reciprocate. Beginning as small mannerisms, a quiet exchange of “thank you” and “please”, or that you would wish him a good night, and return a smile.

He fed you well, always providing meals on a timely manner, with a vase of handpicked flowers. Bathing you, with decadent, alluring scents, clothing you with new, unworn apparel like some spoiled brat. He spoke to you and more so listened to you.

His treatment towards you was more so homily, than hostile. He stripped you of your life, of your identity for a reason, and it was only with time that he opened up.

He wanted to be loved, just like any other sane person, he wanted the mundane spoils of life: a white-picket fenced house and a family to call his very own.

"I wanted that luxury from the moment I saw you. It had to be you."

Many of times you tried desperately to convince yourself that he was merely manipulating you [and who could know, if he truly was], he had a seductive way with his words.

The more he spoke of this domestic, blissful dream with you, the more you seemed to desire it also, envisioning the details in your mind as it warmed your heart like a flame stoking in the fireplace.

Slowly the mutual trust began to blossom: and not before long, you were free from the four, brick walled confinement of the dingy basement, being led up to the breath of fresh air that was a neatly furnished house with contemporary furniture. A home, your new home.

"I did this all for you. This is your home now, Y/N. This is all ours. Everything you’ll ever need, I have given and will give to you."

Not before long, you had settled into a fashionably domestic routine.

Titus greatly enjoyed cooking for you, although when you decided to take the reins, he relished in your eagerness to tend to him.

Whatever the chore being attended to, he would closely watch you, hours on end even. Pleasantly admiring how dutiful you had grown towards him, proof of your loyalty.

He was also deeply in awe of your beauty, and never did a day pass by where he did not mention it to you. Praising you about how angelic and graceful you appeared to him, the way your hair swayed in motion with your body, your figure itself, and that face.

“Now how did I get so lucky finding you, baby? The woman of my dreams.”

TGC-verse Taglist - @chompchompluke @melinskis @connorsui @rhaenattargaryen @sofiyathecunt @fan-goddess @x-prettyboy-x

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

[slasherrcentral]

Don’t Fear The Reaper — Bo Sinclair. (18+)

Summary: after getting sent on a work related business trip in the dead of summertime, your car overheats and you’re left with no other choice but to pull off at a truck- stop. and when a disarming southern stranger offers to help you out, you’re inclined to accept, in absolutely no position to decline his hospitality. but in hindsight, you should’ve turned tail and ran like the wind.

Notes: filth, absolute degradation, nothing but. i dont know where the inspiration for this actually stemmed from, but i’m such a slut for mechanic beauregard. this is heavily a noncon story, there WILL be sexual assault below the cut. please do proceed with caution. trigger warnings galore!!! you’re getting fucked in a disgusting bathroom. also, reader is thick asf. also, yes, all my stories WILL be this long. i like details, what can i say?

Dedications: @bosinclairz @ventiswampwater @leewalkin @visceravalentines 🫶🏻

Warnings: sexual assault under the cut, abuse, foul language, spit eating and blood, dub con, non con, forced orgasm. please be mindful of your trigger’s and proceed with caution.

The summer air was thick and heady — both windows down, radio cranked up, good spirit in your veins. This was your last chance to prove yourself to the ignorant, arrogant man that you had the misfortune of referring to as your boss. He was a royal pain in your ass, and it seemed like he got off on making you fidget.

Your last chance to move up within’ a highly publicized company that you’ve dedicated your very blood, sweat and tears into, since you graduated high school. You’d eagerly jumped at the opportunity — wanting to show them that you’re more than another name, that you’re worth something even when your boss recommended someone prettier and skinnier to go in your place. You packed a bag within’ the hour—pencil skirt scratching your thigh’s, and bid farewell to your loved ones, all of whom couldn’t be more proud, and neither could you. Your outfit was tight, constricting your airflow to your cushy stomach — but you forced yourself not to care, forced yourself to feel pretty for once, a little bit of fat wasn’t going to deter you from success just ahead of you, waiting with open and welcoming arms. There’s nothing that could stop you, not now.

Well, maybe a sputtering engine could. Cursing, your hands found the steering wheel and pounded. This is exactly your luck, your car giving out on you, halfway through your six hour drive. You couldn’t believe it, it seemed possible. How was this your luck? And when pillowy, black clouds of thick smoke came from your engine, you knew it was reality. This was happening, your vehicle was about to fucking explode. Glancing around frantically, you saw a sign for a rest/truckers stop, lurking about half a mile down the road. It was unclear whether or not you would make it but you’re going to try, hitting the gas pedal, throwing on head hazard lights. You’d careened slowly to the trucker’s stop, sighing in relief once you pull into a safer spot; thanking the sweet lord above that you didn’t get in some sort of fatal accident along the way.

Cursing, you threw open your door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind you with fervor. You were a rabid dog, pulling at your hair and baring your white teeth, pulling open the hood of your car. You’d been watching your father working on vehicle’s since you could babble the word mama, and you had come to observe and learn quite a few things along the way; including what an overheating engine sounded like. Sputtering out a cough as grease and tar overcame every sense in your body, you backed away quickly, waving your hand to rid the smoke.

Glancing down at the damage, you were immediately sent into a panic. You raced back into your front seat, where your phone sits idly in the center console. You didn’t know if you’d get a signal through or not, your hands were beginning to shake, but it’s worth a shot, worth a long shot in the dark. Pacing, you dialed 911, only to be greeted with white static noise. You could imagine your boss telling your supervisor that you’re unreliable, that he knew this was going to happen. It gnawed a deep, black hole into your ambitious core; chipping away with a digging tool until you’re hollow, withering away like a flower in the sunshine that was deprived of water for too long. And when a rumbling, southern drawl echoed from behind you, you almost screamed out to whatever god was listening.

The phone dropped from your hands, forgotten onto black pavement. The man threw both of his hands in the air, taking two solid steps backwards. You would have badgered him to get away from you but after a glance in his direction, you’re left speechless. There couldn’t be a doubt that he was beautiful - rigid jaw pointed and prominent, deep blue eyes captivating, brown curls peeking out from beneath his old, blue trucker’s cap. Grease was staining his fingers, nails chipped and dirty. Your guard came down but only some, apologies echoing from chapped lips. When nights mellowed into mornings- and push came to shove, you’re a real sucker for blue eyes.

“You scared the shit outta me,” You breathed, “I’m so sorry for squealing at you like that, probably sounded like a stuck pig.” Sweat lined your brow and the tight, constricting collar of your button up shirt. Your chest, busty and the cause of your two undone buttons, are certainly not missed by the stranger before you. And with most men, you’d be inclined to tell them to take their eyes and shove them up their own ass, but that damned mop of unruly curls made you decide not to. What’s the wrong that could come of it, anyway? His genuine concern seemed … well, genuine.

“Don’t bother me none,” He flashes a wolffish grin in your direction, “Noticed ‘yer havin’ some car trouble, anythin’ that I could do to help ‘ya out?” That accent wasn’t missed, made you weak in the knees, made it rather hard to form a proper sentence. You nod, with your chin jutting towards the hood where smoke has started to bellow from the seams. He whistled, high- pitched and sudden like he was calling a mutt home, making you jump out of your skin once again. When tension seemed to fill the air he filled in blank space, honey-coated smiles and coos within’ moments. It’s ironic now, how naive you’d been at the time, seeing absolutely no reason for distrust. Why else would he have stopped on the side of the road in a half-assed trucker’s rest stop, if not to lend a hand? Stupid girl, should’ve known better, could’ve called up a nearby towing station and gotten the hell outta dodge.

Carefully inching closer, as if not to startle you again; he’d closed the distance in between you both, brown work boots hitting the pavement with soft thuds as a strong, thick hand came down to grasp the car hood before yanking it up with a careful precision that had peaked your curiosity, wondering how many different occasions that he’s had to do this before. After you’d caught yourself staring at his hand’s and the big, red pendant novelty ring on his finger, you opted to clear your throat and take a few steps back from the thick, black tendrils that bellowed from the engine. And as you’re looking back on it now, you should’ve noticed how his eyes never left your bare legs or how his wet, pink tongue ran across his top lip after you had bent down to collect your phone from the ground.

“That’s a damn shame, cher.” He tuts, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Engine’s sputterin’ like hell, surprised that ‘ya even made it this far out. From the city, I mean, by the looks of that get-up.” A glance was thrown in your direction, starting from your heels and working up to your pencil skirt and button blouse, stopping at your hair that you’d pulled into a tight bun and was perched high on top of your head. Oil stained fingers itched to reach up and pull at the strands until your scalp scorched and burned. He smiled at you, an open and inviting grin, satan’s den in the form of man. That smile never quite reached his eyes.

“That obvious, huh?” You chortled, “My asshole boss sent me out here, told me it wasn’t a far trek, guess it was a little bit further than I’m prepared for.” Your car, nicknamed ‘ole bessie, has been passed down to you from your older brother and was at least fifteen years old. But judging from the stranger’s beaten up, filthy truck, you could guess that his was even older. He is smirking at you now, lopsided and amused. And you blushed—opting to chew on your bottom lip instead, breaking eye contact.

“Got some coolant in ‘mah truck. Once the engine has time to cool on down, that should do the trick.” He has pulled a cigarette out of the front pocket of his stained, dark blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. Cocking an eyebrow at you — he holds the crumpled, soft pack out in offering, and you accepted with a soft ‘thank you kindly.’ Its not very often that you indulged in smoking, but in light of your current predicament, you found it hard to say no. After lighting his up, he took two large strides forward, holding the lighter under the cancer stick for you. He’s stolen another glance down your blouse, too, seems it didn’t matter to him if you’d noticed or not. You had to admit, at the time, you’d found it extremely attractive; having never really been ogled so unabashedly before.

“I really appreciate this,” You express, “Didn’t have to stop and help. I have some money in purse that I can give you for your troubles.” You were about to go and grab your purse from the front seat — eager to show gratitude for his kindness in any-way possible, but a thick, ringed hand shot out to catch your wrist.

“Won’t be necessary, darlin’. Momma raised herself a gentleman, don’t take money from pretty girls.” He is beaming at you, cigarette tucked between his canine teeth and low, honeyed voice softer than before. You didn’t realize you were blushing until he has stepped around you, walking towards his own truck, in hopes he’d be able to locate the fluid that your car needed; adjusting his cap on his head, showcasing chestnut brown curls that framed the nape of his neck. You’d assumed that he wanted you to stay put so you did, puffing on the cigarette to ease your nerves. Rifling through his truck bed, you could hear some swears leaving his lips — brow’s furrowed in concentration, smoke curling around his chiseled, scarred jaw-line. Briefly, you wondered how he’d gotten it.

You stubbed the cigarette out beneath your pumps, sated for the time being. You’d catch those piercing eyes, from time to time, flicking back to you. You’re positive that he could tell you’re still on edge. What doesn’t help matters either is the comment he had made, calling you pretty. It’s wasn’t often that folks called you pretty and when they did, it was with an intention of getting into your pants. Nothing more- nothing less. But, there was something about him, something that made his crude gestures flattering. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

Holding up a bottle of coolant, the stranger sauntered back over to you, flicking his smoke onto the black tar, leering victoriously. You sighed in relief, thanking your lucky stars. Because if it wasn’t for this man, you’d be rowing up shit’s creek without a paddle.

“Forgettin’ my manners. Names Bo,” He was pressing past you and setting out to work on your engine, now that your car had time to cool down. When he leaned over, you couldn’t help but notice marred, pink scars, decorating both of his wrists. Looked painful, like his appendages throbbed and ached. “This oughta help, have ‘ya back out on the road within’ the next hour.”

“I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you,” You’re smiling, “Is Bo short for something? I don’t mean to pry,” You were genuinely curious and attempting to make a decent conversation, seems like you’re going to be here for quite a while longer— if what he said held any truth.

“Beauregard,” He retorted from over his shoulder, “I didn’t like it much growin’ up, don’t mind it now. But your name, now that’s a mighty fine name. Suits you, sugar. I’m just about done here, too.”

All of the pet names were throwing you for a tail spin, disarming you before you even realized it. That’s the thing about serpents - they wait for the right time to strike, the most opportune moment. And now when you’d remember this day- you’d remember just how easy it was to talk to him. How there was no tension, awkwardness or regret hanging in the air. And more than anything else, you remember hoping he might offer to take you out on a date or ask for your phone number. Stupid, stupid fucking girl.

He asked you about your job, about your friends and your family. He listened intently as you spoke, telling this perfect stranger your life’s story. He chuckled at jokes you made, told you a little bit about just where he’s from, told you that he’s an active mechanic.

“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna run to the restroom real quick. Wait here for me?” You bat your eyelashes, and send him your most charming simper. You hoped that might convince him to wait before heading out on the road again, so you would have the chance to give him your cell phone number. Much to your delight - it had worked out in your favor. He tipped his cap to you like some good ‘ole southern boy, leaning against the old, rusted exterior of his vehicle.

“I’ll be right here, sugar. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

You felt like you were walking on air on your way to the nearest restroom. It was getting dark quickly and your boss was going to ream your ass whenever you finally making it to the hotel tonight, ready to be up early for the conference that was going to change your life. It’s safe to say that time was of the essence. The air in the restroom was rabid—and you fought the urge to close your fingers over your nose as the door slammed shut behind you. When you turned to lock the door, there’s nothing there. Just an old, rusted latch, fucking great. Oh well, you shouldn’t be long at all.

After relieving yourself, you stood in front of the sink and grimy mirror. Your hair was becoming disheveled in this thick Louisiana heat, your mascara was smudged, there was a sheen of sweat on your chest and brow. It wasn’t missed by you just how badly your chest could be seen, rippling through the buttons and standing at proud attention. Jesus Christ, you looked like a whore, no wonder this man stopped to help you out after you looked like a picture of perfect filth. After washing the grime from your normally pristine hands—it was then that the flimsy wooden door rattled. You jumped, you gripped the sink in surprise. When it happened again, you were inclined to squeak out a response.

“Um, I’m in here! Sorry, I’ll be done soon.” Quickly, you began drying your hands and making a quick break for the door. Hopefully, the handsome stranger would still be waiting for your arrival. But after the door slammed opened, and you screamed, you realized that he could not be waiting for you back at his truck. Because he is right in front of you, and he’s snarling, and he doesn’t even look like same person anymore. You were frozen, eyes wide and lips trembling, backing up into the sink. What was happening? You couldn’t think straight, but before you even had the chance to question, Bo kicks the door shut with the back of his brown boot, top lip curled up like the sight of you disgusted him and also enraptured him all at the same time.

“W-what are you doing in here, Bo?” Your heart rate is picking up now, pulse going off the charts. You look at your surroundings and there was nowhere to go— you were trapped like a caged animal. Your cell phone was back out in your car, nobody knew where the hell your vehicle was stranded at and you didn’t have a weapon close by to defend yourself with. There was absolutely nothing standing between you and him. You began to cry, you weren’t a moron— you knew what he wanted. You should’ve known what he wanted earlier.

“It’s real cute how dumb you girls get.” He takes a step forward, eyes glinting. “Tell me darlin’, did you think i’d just let ya flash those fat tits at me and not do anythin’ about it? ‘Yer in my parish, sweetheart. Nothin’s free.”

“Let me leave. Please,” You pleaded with him, “Please, you’re scaring me. I don’t want this,” You backed into a corner, jolting when you hit the wall, putting two hands up to press against his chest when he closed in on you, beginning to panic. You pictured him taking you out on the town, bringing flowers to your door, pressing a soft kiss to your lips when the night came to an end. This is not what you wanted, not how you wanted it, not what you were expecting. You’d been fooled, the mask is off now and he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, waiting for the right time to attack the unsuspecting rabbit.

“You wound me, darlin’. Makin’ them eyes at me, skirt ridin’ up them big ole’ thighs. What did ‘ya really think was gonna happen? Didn’t your parents ever teach ya not to be takin’ candy from strangers?” Bo mocked, a cruel pout forming on his lips.

His breath fanned in your face. Sweet and smoky, like mint gum and cigarettes. His rough, calloused hand’s moved from the supple flesh of your hips, to your ass, and then up to your tits, where he squeezed until you thought they’d burst under his iron tight grip. His lips were on your neck now, where he bites harshly at the sensitive skin under your ear. You squealed and push against him, nails clawing at his mechanic’s suit and raking down the right side of his face, where blood’s drawn and slowly blossoming to the surface.

The formidable man pinning you against the wall let a pained hiss escape his lips, bringing two fingers up to survey the damage done to his pretty face. And when those fingers returned to his line of sight, glistening a crimson red, his smirk disappeared in moments, with something similar to rage taking over his features.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, pressing your head back against the mucky wall — his knee pressed in between your legs and resting solidly against your clothed cunt, which had bile rising in your throat and an unwelcome heat pooling in your stomach, he smacked you across the face before you had the chance to plead for mercy, so hard that little while specks began to dance around your vision. Your lip busted open, you could feel it and the gravity of your predicament begins setting in. You cried out in pain, couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop white hot terror from bubbling up in your gut. You did not stop pushing against his chest, the sound of your expensive pumps scraping against the floor as you’re trying desperately to gain enough leverage to punch, scratch or claw at him, any fucking thing to get away.

“P-please, stop! Don’t hurt me,” You blubber, “Just let me go, I won’t say anything to anyone! I swear it,” You understand how you it sounded, but you’re so scared; worried that he planned to do more than just a simple smack across the face. You’re effectively sobbing and both of your hands are grasping at his shirt collar, like he’d anchor you to the ground. Bo snickered at you, a menacing and complex sound. Leaning forward, he’s licking the warm and salty moisture that is gathering from his cruel treatment off of both cheeks. And you, making a noise of disgust, flinched when his lips had grazed over the spot where he just smacked you.

And when both of his hands came up to tug your shirt from your body so hard that button’s went flying in all sorts of directions, hitting the dirty floor with a clatter, you’re certain that you might melt into the floor. That sickening tear of fabric would be embedded into your memory for the rest of your life, the glint in his ocean blue hues when he see’s your nipples standing at full attention through the thin fabric of your bra. You had your arms crossed over your chest, your eyes welling with fresh tears, your entire frame shaking like a leaf. Fingers came forward to grab both of your sensitive, stiffened nipples in a vice grip and pull. It hurt badly, stinging like wasps and hot like fire.

“S-stop! Get away from me, fucking psycho!” You’re making a move to head for the door, having used the leverage from your leg against his thigh to push hard against his chest and send him into the sink. You got your fingers wrapped around the doorknob — barely, before he descended on you again. The hair that you spent hours doing this morning was mulled between meaty fingers, nails digging into your scalp painfully, your head snapping backwards and a hand crashing over your mouth to stop the screams from releasing.

“Little fuckin’ bitch,” He panted gruffly into your hair, “Where ‘ya think you’re goin’, hm? There ain’t no one comin’ round these parts after dark. It’s you and me, sugar, ain’t that sweet? ‘M gonna fill ‘ya up so good.”

You were back against the wall—this time your face is smushed against it uncomfortably and your plea’s for mercy are garbled under the weight of his hand. Your attempting to bite him, but he’s got your sore mouth clasped so tightly that you could hardly open it. He’s ripping your bra from your body, using enough of his strength to tear the straps from your skin. His hands were all over your chest, the skin spilling through his fingers. His erection was firm against the prominent, fleshy swell of your ass through your skirt. His knees were pressed against the back of your thigh, forcing your legs apart. You’re still sobbing, he doesn’t care.

“Wish I could take a nice, big bite out of these yummy tits, darlin’. Would die a happy man.” Bo was pinching, pulling and twisting your nipples. And when he finally gets his fill of berating your chest with calloused and bluecollar fingers, he then bit down on your shoulder, making you squeal under his assault and underneath the weight of his hand. He kept his teeth locked onto the junction of your collarbone and your throat as he used this opportunity to shove your skirt down. Your haze diminished then, and you were back to fighting against his hold, screaming against his palm despite how exhausted you were.

“Shut the fuck up, girl.” Bo cooed softly into your ear, breath fanning against the nape of your neck. Those words were said so softly, so sternly, that one might assume he was trying to soothe a child who has just thrown a temper tantrum. “Wouldn’t wanna have to rough up this beautiful fuckin’ face some more now, would we, sugar? Already bruisin’ like a little peach.”

You cowered, reduced to nothing but horrified mewls, your knees wobbling in place as he makes quick work out of sliding the hand that was not clasped over your mouth down the front of your belly, stopping to fiddle with the fat and squeeze it for a moment, before long and calculated fingers delved underneath the elastic waistband of your black, lace panties. When he finds your clit with ease, you shriek at the sudden contact, nerve endings alight as he begins to stroke slow and precise circles around your button.

“So fuckin’ soft,” Bo muttered, “And wet, too. Gonna have this cunt creamin’ all over me in no time, darlin’, that I can promise ‘ya.” In one, swift move, he forced your panties down around your knees. You heard the sound of his metal belt clinking, he took his hand off your mouth to slip it off easier, and then proceeds to fasten your hands at the small of your back, with the rough leather biting against your wrists. You were so violated, so exposed. He was not even going to prep you, he was just going to fuck you, to strip away the dignity you’d spent so long building up inside.

You heard the sound of him spitting into his hand, and you felt the thick head of his cock prodding up against your entrance. You stiffened, lower lip trembling, wide- eyes waiting for him to make his next move. You could not fucking believe this was happening to you, right in the middle of a disgusting bathroom, out in bum-fuck nowhere. Would you ever be the same again? Would it eat away at you until there was nothing left? That was, unless he decided to kill you when he was done. Both hands restricted, face smashed against the wall, your eyes red and puffy- all you could do was wait now for inevitable circumstances.

When Bo pressed sheathed inside of you, burying his cock to the hilt in one fluid movement that sent little, disturbing sparks down your spinal cord and into the very tips your toes, you let a strangled groan escape; your body attempting to adjust to his thickness. The pool of drool that gathered at the corner of your lips, which you didn’t even know was there, began falling down your jaw and onto your chest. He growled and snapped your head back by your locks again, licking your spittle from your jawline and sensitive neck.

“That’s a good fuckin’ cunt right there,” Bo proclaimed, “Fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me so good. It’s milkin’ me for all I’m worth, sweet thing. ‘Ya like that?” His hips found a steady, deep rhythm that made you hiss out through clenched teeth. He was not fucking you hard— not yet, but he was fucking you thoroughly. Your fingers flexed in their binds. The snap, snap, snap of his hips had the most inhuman sounds coming out of your mouth, you were pleading for him to stop and to get away, but it’s also safe to say that a helpless moan or two slip.

“You’re sick in the fucking head.” You spat at him from your place against the wall, words distorted and angry, neck shining with sweat. One hand is on your hipbone, the other knotted in your hair, hips stilling against you. He grinds into your core, chest vibrating with pleasure, circling his hips in a way that has you seeing stars. It’s disgusting that a part of him feels good, he was trying to find that special spot deep inside of you, you could feel the tip of his cock prodding around your guts.

“Says you, sugar. Drippin’ down your thighs right now, gettin’ me all sloppy and wet back here.” And then, Bo was fucking you in earnest. Pounding into your pussy, hips colliding violently with the back of your trembling legs, animalistic grunts in your ear. You were no virgin, but you’d never been taken like this before. It terrified you, it consumed you, it awoken you. “That’s it, that’s what good, dumb little city girls like you do. Take that fuckin’ cock. All ‘yer good for, anyways.”

Your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull, your wrists were raw and red, your flesh rippled with every soul-crushing thrust. In a move that horrified you, he moved his hand from your hair to your neck, latching around the skin and constricting like a snake. He had never relented his brutal pace, punishing you for sins that you’ve never committed. Using that leverage on your neck, he pulled you from the wall and slammed your shattered body down onto the sink, forcing the hues of your eyes to meet his own in the mirror. You thrashed against him. You didn’t want to look at the inhuman creature doing this to you, and you did not want to look at yourself being fucked like this.

Bo was a man possessed. His curls are damp with the sweat from your struggle, curling around his neckline, sticking to his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed, and highlighted deep, sensual lines in his forehead. A pink tongue was caught tight between white teeth. It didn’t help to close your eyes, he’d only squeeze your neck even harder until you opened them. He brought his free hand down on your left ass cheek in vigorous succession, six times in a row, and you preened back against him when the tip of his cock found that spot, wailing at the newfound pain in your backside. Thick, hot fingers hooked into your mouth, preventing your mouth from emitting any sound and you’re drooling.

“Christ, shut the fuck up.” Bo sneered at you through the reflection in the grimy mirror. His fingers were on that patch of skin between your hips and your thighs, gripping the skin so roughly that you’re certain there would be bruises from his assault. “Bustin’ that cunt wide open and all ‘ya can do is fuckin’ whine about it. Pathetic little fuckin’ whore.”

He tightened the leather felt around your wrist, using that leverage to lean back and drill into your weeping pussy at an angle that had your mouth popping open, tears streaming down your cheeks, a litany of prayers and curses tumbling from your mouth inhibited, now hidden behind the salty skin of his digits. He chuckles, seemingly pleased by your shameful slurs of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck!” You groaned, your shoulders aching from the stretch inflicted on your muscles. Your own body betrayed you, your orgasm was looming- your pussy practically weeping around his cock. You were close, undeniably close to coming. Three more of his hard, deliberate thrusts and you’d be flying off the handle. When his hand left your mouth to brutally rub tight, constricted circles on your clit with your own saliva, you’d gushed around him with a strangled shout.

“Downright pissin’ on me, sugar.” Bo sounded just as gone as you were, Louisiana accent thicker than ever, “Gonna fill ya up, girl, gonna make a mess inside you. Never gonna forget about me, city slicker. ‘Yer gonna have a nice husband one day, layin’ down in a big ole bed, touchin’ that perfect cunt to the thought of me, knowin’ you’ll never feel like this again.”

You were a warbling, drooling mess by the time he did spurt rope after rope of his spend inside your wet hole, holding you in place and cursing aloud, teeth bared. It was a sight to behold. You were grotesque, you felt so vile and so degraded and so used. Bo releases both of your hands from the loop of his belt, and you collapse, falling to the ground and assuming a fetal position.

It seemed to amuse him, because he smirked down at you, taking the heel of his boot and shoving your body onto your back so he could loom above you — so your looking up at him, directly into those murderous eyes.

“Get up, darlin’. Turns out, ‘yer engines shot to shit. I’m gonna have to take ‘ya on back to town with me, about twenty five miles out. It’s ‘yer lucky night, sugar, gonna give you the grand tour of a little town called Ambrose.”

[maispourqouuui]

it puts me in the Hang In There mode if you know what I mean

my little plan as someone who can't vote is to pray and hope he gets out of office before he can do anything horrific

the people doing little actions to console each other is very lovely

the choices made for him are not very lovely

it's saddening. He's a FELON? Hello?

There is never going to be a perfect choice for a president. Never. Ever. Not unless God Himself comes down to be president Himself.

there is never ever ever going to be a human that you agree on EVERY single front 100%. And a lot of times A LOT of times there's a rock and a hard place that we've found ourselves in between and we have to make the best, calm, rational choice.

Also, put yourself aside. Put yourself aside. If you need to be selfish, think of your family! Your children, future descendants! Your favorite TV show, even. A choice you make could contribute to making the prosperity of things you love cease.

Who cares about America. Who cares about that eagle or any of it if it's not the people or a symbol of the people. In an ideal world, America is loving. America sees beauty and worth and does not discriminate. America doesn't care in the slightest about people's opinions and weeps for the misfortune of even the most wicked.

In an ideal America, in an ideal world, we do not wish for our country to be grand or anything. We wish for comfort to stem from it, and for it to be soft with everyone and everything. for it to not NEED to be strong.

Let our earth and the people on it be assured that they will not fear their neighbor. Not fear the people across the ocean or their own father, sister, grandchild.

Hate is not good. Hate will never be good and we cannot allow ourselves to be driven by it and feelings like anger or sadness.

[selenafreshfriendkidoaf]

Dream about a Lion

Lion Otherworldly Importance and Dream Translation - Longing for a lion has an importance that differs relying upon your own understanding of the fantasy. Notwithstanding, when fully trusted, it can act as a wake up call that you have massive strength and power inside you; it's simply an issue of acknowledging it and diverting it in the correct heading.

Dream about a Lion

In your fantasies, this message is in many cases sent by the great lion, which represents strength, boldness, and authority.

As perhaps of the greatest feline on earth, their size and savagery make them regular manifestations of solidarity, power, mental fortitude, and assurance — all characteristics that we can gain from. Seeing a lion in a fantasy might recommend that you have the internal mettle and flexibility to win over any test that you face throughout everyday life.

Assuming the lion in your fantasy appears to be especially brutal or furious, it could be an indication that you harbor firmly established fury or aggression toward others. In uncommon cases, longing for a lion might be an admonition that there are impending emergencies, all things considered, that you want to truly take.

In this specific post, I will provide you with a nitty gritty clarification of the secret profound implications and imagery related with the lion. You can likewise get more familiar with how Nature directs and safeguards us by finding out about the signs and images of creatures.

What does it mean when you see a Lion in Your Fantasies At the point when our heavenly messengers need to tell us that they are with us, they send us signs and messages through dreams. Seeing a lion in a fantasy has numerous potential understandings, including getting messages from divine creatures.

Lion Profound Importance Carve out opportunity to ponder the importance of your own fantasy, and you might observe that it is loaded up with concealed signs from the otherworldly domains. Finding their message will make you exuberantly pleased and let you in on that you are rarely really alone in this world.

It is entirely expected to fantasize experiencing a lion, and it very well may be deciphered as the need might arise to make a move in your life, overcome your feelings of trepidation, and sort out the thing is keeping you from accomplishing your objectives.

It is accepted that the widespread cognizance involves lions as couriers to tell you that the time has come to quit staying away from hard choices and difficulties throughout everyday life.

Your otherworldly aides will empower and engage you to sidestep any misfortune that could lie ahead on your excursion. The promising and less promising times that are unavoidable in everybody's life shouldn't prevent anybody from pursuing their objectives and following their interests.

Regardless of what challenges you could confront, they're not a remotely good reason to surrender. Everybody faces difficulties in their excursion and yours also will not be a special case.

It is consoling to realize that your gatekeeper lead celestial hosts are looking after you, which is presumably the motivation behind why you long for lions so much of the time. While the facts really confirm that specific snags might demonstrate testing, recall that a significant number of them are just fantasies of your creative mind. By remembering this, you can keep away from superfluous pressure and stress.

The lion in your fantasy consoles you that it's not unexpected to have a restless and far fetched outlook on yourself, and this obscuring of your healthy identity is a fundamental piece of the excursion to tracking down your actual reason throughout everyday life.

However, it's memorable's essential that enduring achievement doesn't come right away, so you ought to constantly pay attention to your own internal voice and depend on your inward strength.

Genuine progress comes as the finish of difficult work and devotion over an extensive stretch of time, so continue to redesign yourself consistently, approach slowly and carefully, and ultimately, you will arrive at your objectives.

Is it great to see a lion in dream? Experiencing a lion in your fantasy is an indication that you can consolidate your own mental fortitude and assurance with the heavenly beauty of the sky.

At the point when you see a lion, it is in many cases deciphered as a sign that you can possibly make your fantasies work out assuming that you're willing to back yourself up.

Whether you can handle the progression of energy toward this path relies heavily on the fact that you are so open to having these sorts of encounters.

One way or the other, it is empowering to realize that there might be an association among you and your indications assuming you will recognize them.

[thesparklingwriter]

(psst: today it's angstober. )

truth

“You’re not a product of your circumstances, and you are not defined by the misfortunes you’ve been privy to.”

tags: pet names, Zhongli is very pure, soft Zhongli, fem!reader, Zhongli and reader are in a relationship, reader has a traumatic past, Zhongli doesn't know but he has his suspicions, i think this is hurt comfort but idk

content warnings: seasonal depression, nightmares (pls let me know if there's anything that should be added)

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

please do not repost or edit my work without credit. reblogs are greatly appreciated!

i'm also taking requests for the rest of the flufftober days, PLEASE leave any suggestions, cause i am running out of ideas... i'm also considering adding a taglist, so send me an ask if you want to be added :)

Zhongli knows you more than you realise he does. He knows you like staying up late and sleeping in, and he knows you hate sweet things.

But it’s what he doesn’t know that worries him the most—when he can see the terror and pain behind your eyes, when he knows you’re in pain, but he doesn’t know what is causing it.

He knows that when winter comes around, and temperatures plummet, things seem to get harder for you, but he doesn’t know why. You shiver and fold into yourself, as if to conserve heat, no matter how much he heats the house. Your smiles are forced and your energy low.

At night, you thrash in bed trying to escape from some nightmare you can’t ever seem to disperse. The first time he tried to console you, you shot up, suddenly awake , a muttered a groggy “who are you?” escaping your lips as you scrambled away from him.

Since that night, he leaves a dim lamp on in the room, one you can use to identify him when the dreams start chasing you. He’s also had to accept that he can’t try to console you, no matter how heart wrenching he finds your sobs. He has to wait until you seek out his touch, and most nights you do, sliding your shaking hands around him. He doesn’t sleep until they’ve settled, and he knows you’re peacefully sleeping.

Sometimes, when you’re walking around Liyue together, he feels you grab onto his hand tighter, although he can see nothing that threatens him. He eyes scan the crowd to see who’s threatening his beloved, but he can’t find anything but the evidence—you digging yourself into his side. He doesn’t ask any questions except the obvious—“Do you want to go home?”

He knows that loud sounds and sharp movements put you on edge, especially if it’s in a place crowded with men. He’s pieced together that they are the problem, but he can’t do anything but avoid them whenever he can until he hears it from your mouth.

It hurts him to see how you’re suffering on your own. He promised he’d help you with anything you were struggling with, but you won’t let him help you with this. All he can do is try his best to keep you happy when the ghosts of pain and terror begin to reflect in your eyes.

“What do you want for dinner?” You ask him, one mild afternoon. Zhongli looks up from his book, only to see you reaching precariously for the plates. He’d meant to have that cabinet lowered for you, but he’d hesitated because it stopped you from bothering with menial tasks like putting the dishes away. He didn’t like burdening you with things like that.

“I’ll cook, don’t bother yourself with the plates,” he says softly, watching you with unrestrained curiosity.

“No, I want to—” The plates Zhongli told you to not bother yourself with clatter to the floor in a spray of ceramic shards. He calls for you, telling you to not move so you don’t cut yourself, but the commotion is too much for you, and you panic. Tears bunch up in your eyes, and you scurry away, narrowly missing the shards that surround you on the way out.

He wants to rush to you, to check that you’re okay, but such smothering never really does anything good, so he settles for cleaning up the plates—just so you have enough time to calm down. He makes quick work of the shards and sets to finding you.

He knows you aren’t downstairs, and upstairs is almost as hopeless. Too many rooms and doors to look behind. If you’re not in the obvious places, the only thing he can do is sit and wait for you to come out. He decides to start with the simplest option: your room. When he doesn’t see you in there, he tries the adjacent bathroom.

“Are you in here, love?”

You don’t respond for a long time. “Go away.”

He backs away from the door until he hears your lilting voice again.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” he says softly. “I’m just worried. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you sniff. Usually, he’d take this at face value, but today, he doesn’t.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” his chest constricts as he whispers the words. He almost sure you don’t hear him, until you yank the door open.

“Do you even want to know?” You ask lowly. “Do you even want to know how messed up I am?” Tears start readily streaming down your face, as you stare at Zhongli, your arms wrapped around yourself as if to make yourself smaller. “Do you want a reminder that the girl you’re dating is well and truly—”

Zhongli gently pulls your hands away from your sides. “My perception of you is not influenced by your circumstances or your appearances. Nothing you tell me could ever make me change my mind about you.”

You look away from his earnest gaze. It’s embarrassing, admitting that you’re not okay. Admitting that it’s all been an act, that you’re terrified he’s going to be like the rest of them. Admitting that despite years of being together, you’re still terrified that he’ll snap and take his stresses out on you. Admitting that you’re terrified that he’ll turn out to be just like them.

It’s humiliating.

“Talk to me, love.” Zhongli whispers. “Please.”

You resist for a while, minutes turning into hours as you spend the rest of the day pointedly avoiding the subject matter. Zhongli doesn’t press you, or expect you to say anything. At the very least, he’s glad you’ve cheered up slightly.

In the evening, when nightfall rolls around and you curl into bed next to him, he feels you clear your throat.

“Are you alright?” he whispers into the dim room. You swallow.

“I’m…sorry,” you whisper. “For not telling you. For making you navigate all of this with no explanation. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are entitled to your own choices. My existence shouldn’t threaten that.”

Zhongli rolls over to hug you close to his chest, and with your face pressed again the man you’ve grown to love, it’s then that you finally get the courage to tell him about everything you’ve been through—everything you can remember about your family, your past, and the horrible memeories that you’ve kept packed away in some quiet corer of your mind—until your voice is hoarse, and your eyes are swollen from tears.

Zhongli is mainly quiet, stroking your hair to remind you that he’s still listening. His silence is scary–you’ve stripped yourself naked for him, so he can see deep into your mind and your thoughts, and his lack of response… It doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Do you want to me to leave?” You whisper softly. “I understand if you do. It’s a lot and–”

“I don’t want you to leave.” He replies, pulling you closer to his chest. “I would be content to follow you for the rest of my life is that was what you wanted.”

“But they–”

“You’re not a product of your circumstances, and you are not defined by the misfortunes you’ve been privy to.” Zhongli says, returning to stroking your hair. “I love you regardless, and I always will.”

a/n anon i hope this is good enough, i tried my very best <3

[rawmeknockout]

Hey can I request bugformers swerve where his fem human, not yet mate, came across some sex pollen and is now begging for him, like breeding kink. Please and thank you

You aren't dumb. Being a very accomplished alien researcher, you have to be at least a little smart about what you're getting into. That's why, when Swerve realizes what you've gotten yourself into, you're a little bit miffed at him. Swerve didn't even think that you perhaps might have possibly waded through the waist-high flowers with the intention of getting horrifically horny.

Of course, it was your own devious, fool-proof plan to finally get the little bug's spike. So you'll forgive him if only because you happen to be more cunning than you let on.

If only because his thick, segmented spike is reaching places so deep that stars explode across your vision.

His large servo pets over your stomach soothingly as he presses his armored chest to your back, mouth murmuring sweet comfort into your neck. You want to snap at him to keep moving, faster and harder, but you also are endeared to just how... Sweet Swerve is. He's gentle and tender, servos taking great pleasure in mapping out your body. He's just a shade too eager for this to simply be a way to treat your plant exposure.

The primal heat from that dumb plant is driving you so crazy you feel like you might die, but Swerve holds you steady about the waist as he fucks you. It's all too sudden that your first orgasm is washing over you, making your mouth drop open with unsung sounds, but it's hardly enough. Luckily, Swerve knows enough about the flower you had the 'misfortune' of meeting to not bother stopping, consoling you on how good you're doing and how beautiful you are.

You arch into his next thrust, already eager again to pull him into you.

[micerhat]

Hey, I was wondering if you could tell me:

What is Epic Pizza Quest??? Like is it a fic? Is it a thing on here?? What is it??

Okay. This one is going to take a bit of explaining, but TLDR: Story I want to write but don't have focus to write.

Chel is closing the daycare; has let the other staff leave early because of Valentine's day related things with their S/Os or just because its been a hell day what with parents taking full use of the daycare to get some fun date time for themselves. One way or another, Sun got it into his head that she needed to have someone do something nice for her. Dinner? Yes! I can get her something to eat because humans need that!

Moon basically decides - No. Not getting involved. But since you can't normally get out of the daycare without certain permissions/being with staff and you're going to rope me into this, my helping is letting you 'borrow' my programming (He tells Sun to act like him with a stupid impersonation of looming/creeping around to help 'fool' the protocol at first - that doesn't actually help but it's fucking hilarious to Moon)

Before they leave they also stick a post-it note with a rough drawing of a sun face onto a STAFF bot to follow Chel around in assistance - she doesn't ask because hey, don't have daycare attendant following me around asking a hundred questions while I'm cleaning.

He gets to the kitchens, gets another STAFF bot pulled into assisting - decides that she would appreciate him streamlining the eating process even more by pouring a can of Orange Fizzy Faz ONTO the pizza. It already looks perfect because of the fact that they spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to make pepperonis into little hearts, this is just the perfect finishing touch. Close the box, ignore the squishing noise and lets take it back to the daycare...

Enter the Chicken...

...someone has caught the scent.

Oh what's that? Oh? Pizza? I love Pizza! I'm sure you wouldn't miss one slice? ...that wasn't me asking, Sun. Give me the pizza.

Sun can now experience what every bird has felt that ever had the misfortune of flying into the Daycare in the form of a pink chicken from hell giving pursuit through the Pizza-Plex, going as far as getting cornered on the top floor, jumping off of the balcony and giving Monty a heart-attack of his own by landing directly in front of him. (8/10, landing could have been better if not death gripping a pizza box) Monty and Sunny have a disjointed, somewhat distracted exchange before Monty notices the box is... dripping, which brings Sun back to focusing on his quest of getting the box back to the daycare.

This however allows Chica to get back down the stairs and ambush (aka. Hang onto your leg until you wear yourself out and surrender the box)

Ending in Freddy - who is trying to figure out what all the screaming is about - finds Sun dragging a few hundred pounds of determined chicken wrapped around his knee while holding a pizza box above his head and trying to lecture while dragging about how sometimes a gift isn't for sharing!

He can't get her to let go, drags both of them back to the Daycare and yeah, considering the state of the pizza was inedible mush unfit for human consumption at that point, Chica gladly accepted a fist-full from the pizza box in return for releasing Sunny's leg without use of a crowbar or ripping his leg off.

Chica states that she's 'Eaten better - but thanks for the workout, it was fun!' and leaves with Freddy.

Chel spends remainder of night consoling a down-trodden animatronic because: ‘That’s not what it looked like when I first closed the box - not at all - I even made the pepperoni into little hearts and now it’s all mush.’ and cleaning off greasy cheese stains from his clothes.

She did try it. Wasn't awful, but the idea of eating a pizza that has the consistency of a room temperature chunky milkshake is just... yeah. No.

But she appreciated the effort.

And that's pretty much it - now someone stand here and make me write it beyond this synopsis.

[bored-storyteller]

Hey! I really like how you write about Sally Face, I love how you highlight his kindness but also his strength. It struck me a lot how he wonders if anyone will ever love him, I guess it's hard for him to believe in someone's love for him, from a romantic point of view. I thought ... could you write something about a reader in love with him, who gets rejected for that reason but still loves him until Sal dies? You don't have to do it (also because you prefer angst / comfort right?), But I try to ask you ... I'd like to see it written by you. It will hurt but it will be worth it.

Dear Anon,

I hope you like this because I suffered the pain of hell writing this :3

But jokes aside, I hope it does justice to your expectations, I hope I have treated everything with the right delicacy.

Warning: ANGST and SPOILER (I say this for safety)

The story is set in the canonical plot, even if there may be slight differences (after all there is always one more character, you). But for those who haven't played Sally Face this could be revealing.

77- Sally Face, Sal Fisher x reader (Angst)

“The sunflower that cannot bloom “

"I love you."

Those words had slipped off your lips with one of the most beautiful smiles Sal had ever seen.

You weren't perfect, but you were tailor-made for him. Somehow, he had thought that from the first day he met you, by mistake, on a black day. You had offered him a sunflower, a huge yellow flower that shone like the sun in the midst of his misfortunes, and his black day had grown better.

This was you, what he needed when the weight was too much to carry, when he found himself snorting one too many times, when he felt like crying.

Still, even though you were tailor-made for him, he wasn't tailor-made for you.

He would have liked to believe you, with all his heart, he would have asked for nothing more than to be loved by you.

But he couldn't believe it.

"No, you don't ..." His voice was gentle, as if he were explaining something important to a little child.

Your brows had furrowed as you pointed your gaze into the depths of his soul.

"You do not believe me?" Your tone wandered between uncertainty and offense "Do you think I'm lying to you?"

A sigh rang through the empty hollows of his mask: “No, you're not lying to me. I just think you… don't really know what you're saying. "

Your expression deepened as you prepared to argue back. He had seen the wound open inside you and he had looked away; he couldn't watch you while he hurt you.

Oh, he was so good at making himself loved. The river of emotions that had overwhelmed you had died out as soon as his one living eye was separated from you.

Disappointment, anger, sadness had disappeared in favor of affection for him.

His mask was flat, helpless, cold towards his heart, yet he communicated more than anyone else with that immense little soul of him.

"Sal ..." finally you called him gently, reassuring, while your fingers lovingly brushed the cheek of the cold prosthesis.

"I love you." You repeated it, and he turned to tell you to stop. He couldn't be loved, he didn't feel capable of being loved.

He would never have a love like that of movies, or even like that of normal people, like Maple and Chug. He, as he was, could never have been loved, not even by you.

He was going to tell you, to tell you everything, but you stopped him softly: "but it's okay if you don't want to."

You barely laughed, as if everything was really okay with you, and you leaned on his shoulder, cuddling against his neck.

"I have my whole life to make you understand." You said cheerfully, and he just looked at you, accepting that little stubbornness of yours.

Even though he was aware that one day he would see you happy in the arms of someone you really would love, for the time being it was okay for him to bask in that little illusion you were giving him.

---

Life had been cruel.

"I had no choice."

Those words had pierced your brain.

The first time he had told you with a force that you almost confused with anger. His body had never been so rigid in front of you, motionless, sitting on the other side of the table in the visiting room of the prison, surrounded by other inmates like him.

You wondered if you were sane, because you looked into the eyes of a murderer, a killer who had exterminated families, who had even killed a little girl, yet your tears were for them, but also for him.

Whatever it was, Sal hadn't changed, and behind his mask he was more broken into pieces than you were. He hadn't had a choice, for some reason he hadn't had a choice.

It was weird and unreal, but you had no doubts about him, even though your mind still couldn't believe what happened, and Sal probably didn't really realize it either.

However, the second time he told you "I had no choice" his voice was different. He was different, and so were you. You had grown up, but both of you had stood still in what had happened. At that moment he was telling you so that you believed him, so that you knew it was not what he wanted, because if he could have chosen at that moment you would have been together in front of a pizza, telling you how boring the day had been.

"I beg you ..." You whispered so as not to let him hear how broken your voice was "... tell me what I have to do to save you."

It was the first time you used that word, out of pure desperation.

For a moment he hesitated and hoped you wouldn't see his uncertainty behind the mask. Finally, Sal shook his head in silence; he didn't know if it would do any good, but at least he would try to protect you.

Your hand was holding his for the first time in years, and you both knew it would be the last time you would hold it. You had done everything to be able to have that last contact, to still be able to hold him before they took him away from you forever.

You didn't want to cry, you wouldn't have done it on your last time together, but your heart was so heavy that you thought you would die as soon as you separated.

While you massaged the back of his hand with your thumb, you tried to record every detail in your mind that belonged to him, to burn the heat of his palm against yours, to remember the exact weight of his touch.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, you never stopped doing it, not a second you stopped giving him your best side, and you would have given it only to him also in the future.

"You are so important to me, Sal ..." your blue sky under which sunflowers bloom.

"Thank you ... for always being with me."

Part of you died when you let go of his hand that day.

---

Until the last you hoped that something would happen. A ghost that suddenly appears, an angel, a new discovery ... anything, as long as he was kept away from that electric chair.

When your phone rang, you were deluded for a moment.

"Hey…"

"Sal?"

"They ... allowed me to call whoever I wanted ..."

Your heart fell on hearing his voice. It was his last day, his last day in your own world, that was his farewell to you.

"Sal, I-" Your words broke into a sob you couldn't hold back "I'm with you, I'll always be with you."

Silence invaded the line between the two of you as you tried not to give him your tears as your last caress.

"I know it." He was holding back the crying, you could hear it "And I'll always be with you too, know that."

You were tailor-made for him, and his heart would remain for you, even if you moved on, you would love someone worthy sooner or later, or at least he hoped you would, that the demon would not devour your future. .

"Bring me some sunflowers if you can ... ok?" That request trembled "They always make me think of you."

You forced yourself to cover your mouth with your palm to stifle your agony: "I'll fill you with sunflowers."

Something told you that even if you couldn't see him, he was trying to smile: "It's a bit a cliché but ... be happy."

You would have preferred to have died in that very moment.

"Sal, wait!" You begged for him now, holding on to the phone like it was him, like you could hold him there.

He hesitated at the desperation of your voice.

"I can't ..." his voice was soft, light, like when he consoled you years ago, when all this seemed simply impossible.

“I beg you…” You didn't know who you were really praying for, but you weren't ready to hear his voice go out.

One more minute, one more touch, a hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry you had to put up with this." A sob from him too. “Please… fight for your happiness, okay? You deserve all the happiness in the world. "

"Sal ..."

The answer that followed was the only intermittent sound of the blank phone line.

It's over, you'll never be able to hear Sal's voice again. You won't be able to talk to him anymore.

And he never believed you loved him.

---

How could you ever be happy?

His mask still looks at you as it always did, but behind the empty gaze there are nothing but blades of grass growing above his burial.

How could they bury him without his mask? He will feel uncomfortable.

Now you don't have to be strong for him anymore, you can collapse, break, destroy yourself, scream like you've never screamed, ask him to come back, because you need him.

Your fingers caress the cold, hard cheeks of his prosthesis as they always did, as if he were still behind it. Next to it, the sunflower he asked you for, like the one you gave him the first time you saw him.

"I love you Sally face ..." your words now go to the wind, they cannot be refused.

"I really love you."

---

Where you don't know, where you are not, a guy who has the weight of the world on his shoulders thinks about how much he could never be loved as people love each other in movies, or how people love each other in the world. But suddenly, like a ray of light, in the darkness he is facing, the yellow of a sunflower blooms. It's just a thought, but for a moment it's warm, and sweet, and it carries your voice with it.

You exist only within him, but you give him the love he needs, the one he didn't believe in, but which instead exists.

It is a tormented love, which suffers, but still welcomes him and wraps him as your arms did.

You are not there, you are far away, unreachable.

But he feels it, you're still there with him

[bakusquad-assemble]

Can I request a Sero x reader/Bakusquad x reader who is dealing with a panic attack after Class 1A deals with yet another villain. Also no rush and I absolutely love your writing!

Aw, thank you so so much! I love being able to write for you! I also love all the love Sero gets on this blog, I’m not sure I do his character justice but damn we love to see it. No warnings on this one, just some sweet comfort and fluff. Hope you enjoy!

The sound of blaring sirens pierced through the night sky, dark and cold save for the flashing red lights that illuminated the students of class 1A. They sat huddled close together, blankets pulled tightly around their shoulders in attempts to bring them some semblance of comfort. It seemed as if your class was a target for misfortune, like the group of students were always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you were being honest with yourself, the fear of the evil lurking around the corner at any given moment was really starting to get to you. You all somehow managed to escape each attack relatively unscathed, except for a few cuts and bruises that would heal in time, but you were still shaken to your core every time and couldn’t find the strength to keep it down any longer. You’re not quite sure when you started crying, letting the salty tears soak down your blood stained cheeks, but you didn’t even attempt to quell them. You let them consume you, wracking your body with sobs in hopes that it would bring you some solace. Instead you felt your body tremble, your stomach churning with all of the fear that you had kept down for far too long. You slapped your hand over your mouth as you whimpered out involuntarily, in hopes that no one would shift their attention to you.

That hope was shattered almost immediately though as the tall black haired boy who sat next to you straightened his back at attention. He had heard you take in a sharp breath, and upon locking eyes with your form he found his heart dropping in his chest like it was attached to a ton of weights; sinking to the bottom of a treacherous sea with ease. Hanta Sero has had a crush on you for some time now. There was just something about you he found so enticing, like a magnetic force was constantly surrounding you and pulling him in every time he wandered too close. You were best friends, constantly sharing laughs and inside jokes in the hallways at school, or having deep conversations late at night in the dorm common rooms. He cared about you so deeply, and seeing you like this; covered in your own tears and blood and shaking in fear, made him sick to his stomach. He was quick to act, his large hand reaching out for the small of your back to lend you consolation, but when you jumped back from him he quickly pulled away and put his hands up in the most non threatening way he could muster. You hadn’t meant to react like that to Sero’s touch, in fact, you craved his warmth more than ever right now. You wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by his comforting embrace as he whispered his latest horrible joke into your ear- managing to pull a laugh from your salty and cracked lips, but your body was on high alert after tonight. Luckily, Sero understood completely.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s just me.” He reassured, his hands still up in the air in attempts to show you he meant no harm. He offered a sweet smile, despite feeling that same fear that overtook you, and you felt your body relax ever so slightly. You sniffled, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweatshirt as the tears continued to spill like rushing waterfalls.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” you choked out, voice barely audible among the commotion that surrounded the two of you, but Sero heard you clear as day. He could see everything he needed to know written in your pinched expression. You were petrified, and he was going to do everything in his power to make you feel better.

“Woah, hey! don’t apologize!” Sero started, cautiously moving his hands down in front of him and reaching out for one of your hands,trying his best to read your expressions as he did so. You didn’t pull away and he delicately wrapped his large hand in your smaller one, his thumb rubbing comforting circles atop your soft skin. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized he’s never really touched you this intimately before. He tried his best to shake the sensation, and was thankful for the dark night sky for hiding the flush that consumed his features.

“Nothings wrong with you, y/n! I think we’re all a bit shaken up after that and it’s totally normal to be upset.”

The remnants of the dam that you had been holding up broke at Sero’s words, and suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably and throwing yourself into his arms. The choked noises of anguish gained the attention of some classmates nearby, but you didn’t notice, nor care. You were lost in your own thoughts, in the fear of what could have happened, and the only thing keeping you grounded was Seros arms wrapping tightly around your torso and pulling you in against his chest. He brought the comforting circular motions to your back in efforts to soothe you while he rested his chin comfortably on the top of your head. If you were a bit more aware of your surroundings, perhaps you’d have noticed the way Sero’s heartbeat ran rampant in his chest, or the way his hands got clammy with nerves on your low back, but instead your mind lulled it out.

It was Kaminari’s voice that permeated the air first, though you kept your head situated in Sero’s chest, finding refuge in his closeness.

“Oh man, are they okay?” Kaminari stood awkwardly in front of the two of you, pulling his blanket snuggly over his shoulders to keep it from falling to the ground. Sero’s only response was to pull you in tighter and shake his head. Kaminari sighed out, his voice wavering as if he had just gotten over crying himself. You couldn’t help but look up from the confines of Sero’s chest just a bit, eyebrows pinched up in curiosity.

“Mind if I join you guys? Mineta isn’t exactly the best company in a time like this.” He tried to keep his voice light and playful, shooting your newly emerged face a warm smile. Kaminari didn’t wait for a response,however; instead picking the unoccupied spot next to you and squeezing in tight, enjoying the comfort the closeness brought him.

“Mineta is never good company, Bro. He’s a little scumbag” Sero quipped, sending a smile the electric boy's way. Kaminari chuckled, shrugging defeatedly.

“Hey! he can be funny sometimes!”

“I think that makes you a little scumbag too, dude. ”

You felt your throat stutter as you let out a breathy laugh. It came out choked and water logged, but it was a sweet little laugh nonetheless. Both of their expressions lit up, looking at each other before moving their eyes down to you, shocked by the sweet sound escaping your lips. Sero smiled widely, pulling you in just a bit tighter as he felt your shoulders get lighter. These boys always knew how to pull it out of you, and despite the fear still bubbling deep inside, their playful banter had you feeling kind of normal again.

“Woah, hey! Why didn’t we get an invite to the “we almost died but we didn’t and we still kickin it somehow” snuggle fest? Move over! I need some!” Minas voice was perky per usual, but even you could detect the hints of worry laced between each syllable. She was just able to use her personality to hide it well, something you had never been more envious of than right now. You straightened your back, pulling away from Sero to get a better view of the rest of your friends approaching. You tried your best to wipe your face free of any remnants of your breakdown, though seemingly impossible with the current state you were in. Mina was pulling Kirishima along behind her by the hand, keeping him close for comfort reasons you figured, and a certain scowling blonde wasn’t too far behind. It was as if he was tethered to the redhead, following against his will and dissatisfied with his new change of scenery, yet he continued to follow with a pout and his arms crossed heavily over his chest. After knowing bakugou for so long, though. His demeanor didn’t shake you, nor did his booming tone as he spoke up above the noise.

“The hell you all whining for? Some hero’s you are for being afraid of some lowlife discount villains that couldn’t even kill a bunch of high schoolers!” Kirishima nudged Bakugou hard, causing him to shoot the red haired boy an evil glare. It didn’t shake Kirishima though, he just shook his head at his blonde best friend.

“Read the room, Bakubro. We’re all kinda messed up about it. Even the manliest people get scared sometimes, you should know. ” Bakugou clicked his tongue in frustration, dropping onto the ground with a thud and pulling his knee up to rest his arm on it.

“I’d never be scared by some shitty ass villains and neither should you! They didn’t stand a chance against us! You’re all alive so stop complaining” Bakugou had locked eyes with you, and deep down you knew this was his makeshift way of trying to cheer you up. His way to remind you how strong you were, despite the tears and snot that ran down your face. You nodded softly to him, a faint smile ghosting your lips, and he quickly averted his gaze to anywhere but you. Mumbling something under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out but appreciated nonetheless. You watched Kirishima take a spot of the ground near Kaminari, and Mina dropped to her knees in front of you, her eyes welling with the same tears that plagued yours. Her smile was gentle, caring, and it made you feel safe. Safe despite everything that had happened to all of you just a few hours earlier. In fact, just being surrounded by your friends filled you with a sense of comfort that you didn’t expect yourself to find. You weren’t sure if it was simply their presence, or if it was the puffy eyes and wordless smiles of understanding that laid hidden on their expressions.

“You alright, baby?” Mina asked, her soft and well manicured hands coming to rest on your soaked cheeks. And despite it all, you nodded. The tiny smile still ever present on your face. Because for the first time tonight, you were reminded that no matter how hard things get, no matter how many villains tried to tear you down, you would always have your friends to pick you back up- to put a smile on your face with ease when you felt just minutes prior that you may never smile again. You could never thank them enough.

“Yeah, I will be.”

[aswithasunbeam]

What was historical George and Alexander relationship like? I read Alex’s letter when he resigned from being aide and the picture it was painting was different from what I got from the musical. And some even say they were never really friends to begin with. So I am wondering what’s the real deal. Thank you!

Such a fascinating topic! Their relationship was incredibly important to the founding of the US, but it was also complicated and certainly developed over time. Washington was about twenty-five years Hamilton's senior and he could be a difficult man to work for, especially when he was stressed, which made a close relationship between the two a challenge.

As much as Washington tried to present a stoic front, he could have quite the temper in private, and his aids, such as Hamilton, often found themselves on the receiving end. Hamilton worked closely with Washington for the better part of five years with hardly any leave by the time he resigned from Washington's staff in 1781. At the time Hamilton resigned, he claimed he "felt no friendship for [Washington] and had professed none. The truth is our own dispositions are the opposite of each other & the pride of my temper would not suffer me to profess what I did not feel." (Hamilton to Philip Schuyler, 18 February 1781). In a more candid letter to James McHenry, Hamilton wrote, "The Great Man and I have come to an open rupture....He shall for once at least repent his ill-humour." (Hamilton to McHenry, 18 February 1781). It's important to keep in mind Hamilton's pent up frustration when he penned these letters, however, and that at all times Hamilton respected and trusted Washington, even when he didn't like him very much.

The two spoke little in the years immediately after the Revolution. By the time of the Constitutional Convention, however, when Hamilton had begun to establish himself as a formidable national figure in his own right, a certain amount of camaraderie and warmth enters their letters. When Hamilton needed to go back to New York, Washington wrote to him of his sincere fears about whether they would succeed in coming to any kind of agreement. He closed the letter, "I'm sorry you went away. I wish you were back....I will not at this point trouble you with more than my best wishes and sincere regards." (Washington to Hamilton, 10 July 1787).

Their years of working together throughout the war gave them a similar perspective on the importance of a strong national government to bind the states together. Hamilton became arguably the most influential figure in Washington's cabinet during the Washington administration. They trusted and understood each other in way that was unmatched by the others in Washington's circle of advisors.

But even that period had it's rocky moments. In early 1794, when Hamilton was being dragged before his opponents in Congress and questioned about his methods of paying foreign loans, he claimed that although he could not point to explicit permission from Congress, he had acted on the approval of the President. He wrote to Washington hoping that he would confirm those orders. Instead, Washington attempted to distance himself from Hamilton: "I cannot charge my memory with all the particulars, which have passed between us, relative to the disposition of the money borrowed." (Washington to Hamilton, 8 April 1794). This wasn't exactly the ringing endorsement Hamilton had been looking for. In the end, though, Hamilton was cleared of wrongdoing.

Hamilton resigned from the Treasury in 1795. In a moving acknowledgement of their shared efforts and trust, Washington wrote to Hamilton:

In every relation, which you have borne to me, I have found that my confidence in your talents, exertions and integrity, has been well placed. I the more freely render this testimony of my approbation, because I speak from opportunities of information wch cannot deceive me, and which furnish satisfactory proof of your title to public regard. My most earnest wishes for your happiness will attend you in your retirement, and you may assure yourself of the sincere esteem, regard and friendship of Dear Sir Your affectionate Go: Washington. (Washington to Hamilton, 2 February 1795).

Washington's affection and support continued to be important to Hamilton well after he left the Treasury. In the red heat of the Reynolds scandal two years later, Washington sent Hamilton silver wine cooler as a symbol of his continued support, writing:

Not for any intrinsic value the thing possesses, but as a token of my sincere regard and friendship for you, and as a remembrancer of me; I pray you to accept a Wine cooler for four bottles, which Coll. Biddle1 is directed to forward from Philadelphia (where with other articles it was left) together with this letter, to your address. (Washington to Hamilton, 21 August 1797).

When the quasi-war with France began soon after, it was at Washington's insistence that Hamilton was promoted to General and placed in command of the effort to raise an American army.

Washington passed away on December 14, 1799. His last (official) letter was to Hamilton, written two days earlier, approving of his thoughts regarding the establishment of a military academy. After learning of his passing, Hamilton wrote the following moving epitaph to Tobias Lear:

The very painful event which it announces had, previously to the receipt of it, filled my heart with bitterness. Perhaps no man in this community has equal cause with myself to deplore the loss. I have been much indebted to the kindness of the General, and he was an Aegis very essential to me. But regrets are unavailing. For great misfortunes it is the business of reason to seek consolation. The friends of General Washington have very noble ones. If virtue can secure happiness in another world he is happy. In this the Seal is now put upon his Glory. It is no longer in jeopardy from the fickleness of fortune. (Hamilton to Tobias Lear, 2 January 1800).

This only skims the surface of one of the most consequential and fascinating relationships among the Founders. For a deeper look, I'd recommend Stephen Knott and Tony Williams' excellent book "Washington & Hamilton: The Alliance That Forged America".

[honeyxchoso]

Promise (fuckboy!Satoru Gojo x reader) (college AU)

warnings: Gojo being a fuckboy who knows his effect on women all too well, MC's declining mental health implied

genre: angst? (sfw)

word count: 1.9k

“Please, just hear me out!” Gojo begged, face contorting into a desperate expression you knew all too well by now.

The scene is just like the numerous ones you’ve experienced in the past few months, all consequential to Satoru Gojo asking you out earlier that year. You should have known better. After all, you’ve been a witness of all of his intimate endeavours throughout high school. It was naive to assume that you would be spared of his promiscuous behaviour and that, somehow, this would be different.

“I promise you it won’t happen again!”

The exclamation just fell on deaf ears. That very promise, which he never fails to make in moments like these, has lost all meaning long ago. The sincerity fading more and more each time it was broken. These conversations, which once used to reduce you to tears, have now lost all meaning they once might have possessed.

All you know is the emptiness you feel resulting from your heart being shattered over and over again, your soul reduced to nothingness. You can no longer cry. You can no longer get mad. You are no longer surprised. Just a shell of the person you once were.

No longer are you even aware of your surroundings, lost in your own mind as Gojo spouted endless dubious apologies and false promises, all of which you’ve heard dozens of times before. How many times have you turned a blind eye so far? How many second chances have you given? How much longer will this go on? You do not know.

How did it come to this?

You and Satoru are first years in an honours programme at Jujutsu college, with you majoring in Biology and him in Physical engineering. Although you had known him since your first year of high school, you two have only gotten close in the summer leading up to your first year at college. During that summer, he’s managed to get closer to you than anyone ever has before. It really isn’t that difficult to imagine considering his flamboyant personality and stunning appearance.

Right now, you were at a cafe, waiting for Mr Perfect to show up for your weekly Math and Chem study session. You chuckle looking at a meme he just texted you. The lovely bastard is fashionably late per usual, but you are somehow never annoyed at that nasty habit of his. Five minutes of texting later, you feel a tap on your shoulder alerting you of Satoru’s arrival. Soon after the tap, you can feel his presence on the left side of your head.

“I think you can kiss heaven goodbye, as it must be a sin to look that good,” he proudly stated right next to you. You gazed to the side with widened eyes and your mouth slightly agape. It was just quick enough for you to catch a glimpse of those gorgeous sky blue eyes of his, mischievously peeking up at you from the pitch-black sunglasses the man always adorned. It truly was a sight to behold. To your great misfortune, however, it was gone as soon as it came, with him rising up to ruffle your hair a bit with his enormous hand before going to sit at the other end of your small table.

You focused on regaining your usual composure, as you’ve grown accustomed to his flirty persona during the summer while observing him picking up girls wherever you went. His sense of humour is just atrocious, but it eventually grew on you also. Despite his provocative behaviour and dirty humour implying he’s still very much immature for anything of the sort, you’ve started harbouring hope that one day, just maybe, he’ll give it a shot for you. Yes, as naive as it was, you couldn’t help but fall for the marvellous man sitting across from you.

You sighed at your inner turmoil and slightly irritably ran a hand through your hair. Satoru, of course, interpreted your reaction as you being annoyed at his borderline foul compliment and the thought elicited a deep, alluring chuckle from him. Slightly shaken from the beautiful sound, you plastered on a smile and looked at him, asking to begin your study session already since he was late again.

Two hours of studying later, you two were walking back to the student dorms on the other end of the campus site making small talk on your way.

“Argh! I hate this unit so much. Why do we have to memorise all the functional groups when it would be so much easier to just look them up in the data booklet during exams? It is so unnecessary!” you cried out, pouting while clenching your fists in exasperation. When Satoru didn’t respond, you relaxed your posture and turned to address him, only to blank out upon seeing the way he was staring at you.

He had a tender look on his face the likes of which you’ve never seen before. His lips formed into a small but genuine smile with his eyes relaxed as he just looked at you. You felt as though he was staring right into your soul. At this point, you both stopped walking instinctively and held your eyes locked wishing for the tender moment to last forever. Satoru was the first to speak up.

He called your name, not breaking eye contact. You just barely took notice of his voice, getting lost in his gorgeous blue eyes during your little moment just now. God, does your name sound good coming from his mouth. You barely had the common sense at this point to utter out a small “Hm?” and no notion whatsoever of what was yet to come.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You were baffled. The person you’ve been crushing on for months now just asked you out. You. Little old insignificant you. Too startled to form a coherent response, you replied with the only concern you had. “Me?”

After all, you were a nobody. You’ve seen the women who talk to him on a daily basis. The perfect height, athletic, well-adorned in all sorts of jewellery and fancy clothes, makeup perfectly done and never a single strand of hair out of place - those were the type of women surrounding Satoru Gojo. Compared to them, you were the lowest of the low. Your face contorted into one of confusion before your eyes started tearing up. This must be a joke...

That was only in the few seconds leading up to Satoru bursting out in a tear-inducing laugh. This did well to break you out of your small trance, sobering up a little before becoming even more confused. He asked you out, and now he’s laughing about it? Is this man in his right senses? You don’t recall him having any alcoholic beverages at the cafe so it can’t be. He stopped laughing soon after and used the tip of his right-hand sleeve to wipe away his tears.

“Of course it’s you, silly! It’s 10pm. We’re the only ones here right now!�� he exclaimed, giggling a bit throughout forming his sentence still. This only served to confuse you even more. It must be a joke, then.

“You’re joking,” you voiced your thoughts. At this, his formerly happy expression fell and formed into one of concern.

“How could I be?” he asked. Seeming genuinely concerned as to why you’d think that. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed an unusual frown. “How could I ever joke about something like that? You have no clue what you mean to me, Y/N.” You could tell from his expression that he was being sincere, making you falter. Your face seemed to be enough of a response for him to continue speaking.

“You are honestly the best person I have ever met. You are strong and independent despite everything life has thrown at you. You are smarter than anyone I know. You have an amazing sense of humour and are a great listener. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you most. Along with being a good person, you also make me a better person myself. You fulfil me. Without you, I feel my very existence would be meaningless.” All the while saying this, he hasn’t broken eye contact once. “So I will ask you once again, Y/N, will you go out with me?

Following that evening, the two of you were in a happy relationship.

So how did it turn into this?

You first noticed something was wrong when you saw him dancing really close with a girl at a college party. He had his left hand low on her waist and his other hand entangled in her hair, bringing her closer so he could lean into her neck. It was just an embrace, right? Perhaps she was his friend who needed comfort of some sort? These are the excuses you made for yourself at the time to console the slight pang of concern and betrayal felt upon witnessing that scene. You never confronted him about that. At the time, you told yourself that was because there was no issue to address but reflecting on that moment now, you know it was the fear of your suspicion being proven right that discouraged you from bringing it up.

This happened about an additional five or six times before you started acting a bit more adverse to Satoru’s usual affection. You would no longer initiate kisses and would become stiff in his embrace. It was mortifying to know he was behaving so naturally around you when you know he’s off with other women when he thinks you aren’t looking. Despite this, the relationship was maintained as your love for him didn’t falter.

After a while, his endeavours would cause arguments. He would argue the women were coming onto him, that he was drunk or anything of the sort, just to get out of the situation, and you would argue he was fully aware of his promiscuous behaviour. These arguments would always end in forgiveness and the movie would rewind yet again. That is what led you where you are now. Your forgiving nature backfired and your feelings for the man were constantly extorted.

Sometimes, enough is enough.

It is time to put a stop to this neverending loop your relationship has turned into.

“Stop,” Satoru was still pleading for forgiveness when you interrupted him mid-sentence. Your simple exclamation seemingly pausing time, as it was the first word you have uttered in this conversation so far. Gojo looked at you anxiously, hope evident in his eyes that you would forgive him. Oh, how you loved those eyes of his, full of deceit.

“I’ve had enough. I’ve given you far too many chances and have been disappointed every time without fail. It is time for both of us to admit to ourselves that this won’t work. Not the way it is now.”

Despite your calm exterior, your previously empty inside now felt a sharp, anxious pain. No one said it was going to be easy. While the fear of change is strong, you know this is the right thing to do. Fear can bring no actual harm, but this relationship has and will continue to do so if you don’t put a stop to it. It is time.

“Goodbye, Satoru Gojo.”

[talkfastromance4]

Temporary--Luke&Lily series

a/n: so sorry it’s taken me a month to complete this. It’s a heavy topic with a lot of emotions and I was feeling what my characters were feeling. This is very detail oriented, some medical jargon (I did my best research and some of it was from watching Grey’s Anatomy which I know isn’t realistic but I tried)

warnings: NICU mentions throughout, premature birth, C-section, sadness, moments of grief and loneliness, some sexual content. **Please read very carefully, this is a sensitive topic**

word count: 9.7k

Masterlist

Luke&Lily Masterlist

Magical Memoriess&Misfortunes (<-- catch up here)

feedback is always welcome, I hope you enjoy it.

****

It’s like you’re in a horrible dream. You’re frozen in terror at the multiple bodies moving above you, their voices warped but all you feel is immense pain and fright. You search for Luke through your blurred and clouded vision. The lights are too bright. It hurts your eyes.

You think you hear your name through the thick cotton cloud that has somehow gotten in your ear. Why can’t you hear properly? Where’s Luke? How did you get on this moving bed?

Another white-hot-blazing pain slices through you. You think you scream. Hands are on you and then it goes black…

…When you wake up, you’re still in this horrible nightmare that won’t seem to end. Usually when the terrible things keep happening, you wake up in a cold sweat.

“…. lovie…”

Your head lolls to the side and you see Luke’s eyes peeking out above a blue mask and a blue cap. It still feels like you’re stuck in a cloud and you feel a tug below you. Before you can look down, Luke cups your cheek and shakes his head.

You don’t know what he means but tears start rolling down your cheeks and then you close your eyes again. Why can’t you wake up? You just want to wake up, get out of this night terror…

…Coming to again and you hear more voices and commotion. You hear the urgency. Their words meet your ears, but the meaning doesn’t register with your brain. What is happening? Luke still has a firm grip on your face, but you look beyond him and see a group of people in blue gathered around a small thing. Their hands work quickly. You wish your tears would make what’s happening clearer.

“He’s breathing! It’s very labored!”

“Intubate him. Page Dr. Chambers.”

“Move people!”

He? Who’s he?

You look to Luke and he’s smiling through his own tears, his forehead pressed to yours.

Just as you’re about to connect the very blurry dots, more pain ensues. This is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s all over your body and it’s in your chest, collapsing onto you.

More voices.

More urgency.

More terror.

More questions.

Then, you drift off once more, the pain ceasing with each gasped breath.

**

Soft, methodical beeps drift you awake. You’re not on that strange cloud anymore but your body feels heavy, weighted. You search your brain for where you are, the sheets are crisp and your feet are cold. Disney World swims by and you’re confused because you remember waking up after you fainted.

Was that real?

Or is this real?

Then it hits you, like the snap of a rubber band breaking all the distorted memories and voices and hands all come back. The pain. The tug. He…

You gasp and flash your eyes open. You’re met with a white ceiling and wires and tubes suspended above you. There’s commotion to your left then Luke’s face is in your vision. His eyes are red with dark circles underneath them; his hair is a disarray as if he’s been pulling his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Oh, thank God, Y/N I was so worried. They told me you’d be asleep for a while because you lost so much blood…so much blood…but you’re okay now. You’re awake. I’m right here, lovie, I’m right here,” he rushes out in a frantic whisper.

He touches your forehead carefully and he’s so warm. You’re still trying to string everything together but there’s so many gaps in time. You’re pinpointing things by the different types of pain you experienced.

“What…what happened?” you croak then try to swallow. But your mouth and throat are so dry it’s like trying to swallow sand. It hurts.

When will the pain stop?

Luke’s eyes soften, he continues to stroke your forehead and into your hair. He licks his chapped lips then shakes his head.

“I…”

“Did I lose the baby?” you whisper, voice sounding like broken glass. Tears well up in your eyes again.

“No, no, no…shhh, shhh,” he soothes wiping at your tears with his other hand.

“They don’t…” he takes a deep shuddering breath, “you had a C-section. He’s in the NICU being monitored, I only got a small glimpse of him before they took him away. He’s so small and I don’t know what’s happening, no one has come by and I’ve been worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

And then you’re comforting him by pulling his head to yours, he sobs into you and you pet his hair. Your voice is lost, you feel the sudden loss of your baby not in you anymore, your heart is very fragile and seeing Luke like this terrifies you.

But Luke also said ‘he’ and a small smile appears on your lips. You have a son.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, baby,” he whispers. You feel his hot tears soak through the gown on your shoulder.

“Can you call for a nurse?” you ask kissing his hair delicately. At least, you hope you do because your lips are also very chapped and dry. You need some damn water.

“What hurts?” his head snaps up and you see why his eyes are so red; from his tears.

You swallow and swipe at his own tears.

“We need damn information about our son, and I need some damn water,” your voice shakes with ferocity. Luke punches the call button repeatedly until a nurse runs in.

**

After hydrating yourself with water, Luke took your hand keeping his gaze on you as you demanded the nurse to get your doctor, or your son’s doctor, to come and give you information. You’re never normally one to yell at someone, but your memories have so many holes in them you need to know what’s happened.

The nurse tries to console you but you’re hell bent on finding out about your son. Your son you haven’t even seen yet.

“I will walk there if I have to,” you threaten through gritted teeth. The more frustrated you become the more prominent the throb and ache below your waist also becomes.

“I will go find your doctor right away, ma’am,” the nurse nods frantically and runs from the room. You glare in his wake.

Luke squeezes your hand; you look at him.

“I love you,” he says simply but you hear way more than that.

I’m scared, too. I don’t know what to do either. We’re in this together. I’m never letting go.

Shortly after, a doctor walks in the room, her expression timid and she’s scrolling on her iPad.

“Mrs. Hemmings, how are you feeling? Any pain we can help with? I’m Dr. Wilson and I administered the C-section.”

“I’m fine. Take me to my son and let me know what’s happening,” you demand.

“Mrs. Hemmings, with your son being born at only 25 weeks the next 24 hours is very critical. We are monitoring him as we speak, I have my best staff on his watch,” Dr. Wilson explains, her voice cool and collected.

“What happened?”

Dr. Wilson steps closer to your side of the bed, her round face and almond-shaped eyes show both kindness and fire in them. You’re still on the fence on how to feel about her because she didn’t tell Luke anything.

“Part of your placenta was twisted, and it caused you to go into early labor which also caused stress on your baby. Thankfully, you got here in time and we were able to get him out before it became worse. His breathing was labored and with him being so small and born extremely early, his organs haven’t fully developed yet.”

“Why are the next 24 hours critical?” Luke asks, his hold on your hand is like a death grip.

“Because he’s still so small, his lungs aren’t at the correct size they should be. Lack of oxygen can cause severe brain damage or heart failure. We have an ET, endotracheal tube in his mouth which is hooked to a ventilator to help him breathe. An IV is also administering the nutrition he needs, we’re monitoring his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and he’s being kept in an incubator that helps simulate the inside of the womb.”

You take in all the information, your heart longing for your baby boy that you have no idea what he looks like.

“What’s the survival rate for a baby born at 25 weeks?” your voice cracks. Luke shifts closer to you, his other hand covering yours.

Dr. Wilson glances between you and Luke before answering solemnly, “Between 67 to 76% survival.”

Luke lets out a choked gasp and you shift your eyes to the ceiling to keep the burning tears from falling.

“I can promise you Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings, that we are doing everything in our power to make sure he makes it through the next 24 hours. He’s a strong little guy.”

“Is there any way we can see him?” Luke’s voice wavers and is thick with emotion.

“Infection is very prominent right now; any outside contact can make him head in a worse direction.”

“Please,” you beg in a whisper meeting Dr. Wilson’s eyes. You notice that they’re brown. “I need to see him. I don’t want him to be alone if he…if he…”

You bite your lip and shake your head; you’re too overcome with emotions to finish a sentence you don’t even want to think about.

“Mrs. Hemmings, I can’t risk your stitches tearing. You’ve lost a lot of blood; your blood pressure is extremely high due to the stress of early labor.”

“I don’t care! Please, let me see him. I need to see what my baby looks like,” you cry. Luke rubs at your shoulder affectionately saying your name. You can’t look at him now. If you do you’ll lose this fiery courage that’s inside you right now.

“I understand. I’ll see what I can do, but are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“My stomach hurts,” you whisper.

“I’ll have a nurse fix that for you. I will be right back,” Dr. Wilson smiles then leaves the room.

The male nurse you screamed at comes back in and makes quick work with your IV. You’re too distraught to look or even speak to Luke so you keep your eyes fixed on the white board on the opposite wall. The name of your nurse is Tom, and you look at each yellow face on the ‘rate your pain’ scale. You’re fixated on the number zero face, it’s the happiest looking one with a wide-open smile.

That scale is wrong. The pain and fear and worry you’re feeling doesn’t equate a ten. It’s too powerful, it weighs down on you but at the same time you feel nothing. The pain is too much that it’s also gone. Your pain is at a zero, a big circle of nothing and everything all at once.

**

You’re not sure how much time has passed before Dr. Wilson comes back.

“I cannot take you to see him, but I found a way where you can see him,” she smiles then hands you her iPad.

It’s heavy in your hand and you gasp upon the first look of your baby boy. He’s surrounded by blankets under a large light with tubes, wires, and circular patches attached to his tiny, tiny self. You see his small chest moving rapidly with his breaths and you see the tiniest hat on his head. Luke drapes himself next to you, his lips pressing onto your temple.

“There he is,” you whisper touching your finger to the screen. “He looks so helpless…”

“How is he?” Luke asks.

“His oxygen level is still very low, but he’s taking the nutrients very well.”

You’ve already got his features memorized, and yet you can’t stop looking at him. You wish you could touch him, let him know you’re there and that you love him.

“Can we keep this in here?” you ask.

“Of course. I’ll be back with more updates, but I need you to rest and heal yourself, Mrs. Hemmings. Is there any family we need to contact?”

“The girls!” you gasp and turn to Luke.

“Shit,” he exhales then checks the time on his watch. “Lily’s with Cory by now and Posy…shit! I’ll call Ashton and then call Cory…”

He continues to mumble to himself as he searches for his phone. You turn back to the screen, your heart longing for your little boy.

**

Hours have gone by, the room you’re in is darkened from the night sky peeking through the blinds. The iPad is still on your lap and you’ve heard every conversation Luke has had while he made phone calls. Daycare called Ashton when neither you nor Luke picked Posy up and both of your phones went unanswered.

According to Ashton, Luke sent out a text to the band group chat that said ‘at hospital. Emergency get the girls will call’ but he doesn’t even remember sending it. Everything happened so fast and yet it felt like it dragged.

Posy is at your home with Ashton and KayKay who said will stay with her for as long as you two need. Just when you think of Lily, Luke already asks if they’d be all right picking her up from Cory’s on Sunday and they said yes.

“Lily might want to stay with Cory,” you tell him after he hangs up with Ashton. He’s tapping away at his phone, probably texting Calum and Michael or his family. Or all of them. You’re not sure but now you have Lily and Posy on your mind.

“It’s too late to call him,” Luke mutters and falls into the chair beside your bed. He scoots closer and peers at the iPad screen.

“Where’s my phone? I’ll call him so he and Ella can discuss it,” you hold out your hand.

“Lovie, it’s almost ten thirty at night—”

“Give me my phone so I can call him, Luke,” you interrupt a little too harshly. “Please.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before reaching into his other pants pocket. He hands you your phone and you scroll to Cory’s name under your favorites. You stare at your baby boy as the phone rings.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s going on?” Cory asks and you feel your emotions rising to the surface at the sound of his voice.

You force them down.

“Um, me and Luke are at the hospital. Something…” you suck in a large breath but your voice still trembles. “Something went wrong and I had an emergency C-section and the baby is in the NICU. Posy is home with Ashton and KayKay and they said they’d pick up Lily tomorrow but I know she’d probably want to stay with you. And I…I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but Lily needs to know. She’s been seeing everything going on around her and I don’t want her to be scared.”

“Of course, they can both stay with us. I still have Lily’s toddler bed. How are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

You tell him everything. Luke holds your hand as you do, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles and your wedding ring.

“The doctor said he’s all right for now but he has to get through the next 24 hours?” Cory clarifies gently.

“Yes.”

“First of all, congratulations on a little boy,” he says and you can hear his smile through the phone. “You’re doing fine and he is too and he’ll continue to get better because he’s a fighter.”

“How do you know that? He’s so small, Cory….”

“I know it because you’re a fighter, I’m sure you’re giving the nursing staff hell and highwater to get answers,” he chuckles.

“Maybe a little. I feel bad about it.”

“You’re scared and you’re worried and this all happened so fast. But Luke is with you and you’ve got all of us supporting and loving you. You should try and get some sleep and I’ll tell Lily everything in the morning. Do you want me to call you so she can talk to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Cory.”

“Tell Luke I say hi and that I’m here for you two, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too,” you sigh then the call ends. You turn to Luke, the circles under his eyes seem to have darkened and you reach over to touch the shadows on his cheeks. “He said he’ll keep the girls and will call tomorrow so we can talk to Lily. He says hi.”

Luke nods slowly then laces his fingers with yours. He kisses the tips of your fingers, his eyes closing.

**

You and Luke were sent hourly updates on your son. He’s been in the same condition each time, you try to find positivity in that because he’s not getting worse, but he’s also not in the clear yet. When Cory called again with Lily on the phone, you and Luke tried to make your voices sound positive. She asked a lot of questions and wondered when she could come see her new brother.

“He’s a little sick right now, honey. We need him to get better so we can all be together, okay?” you told her and she was silent for a while.

“When are you and dada gonna come home?”

“Hopefully soon, my love,” Luke tells her.

“What about Piggy?”

“Uncle Cal has her at his house,” you make up then quickly look to Luke who’s already pulling out his phone to text Calum.

You’re being horrible parents, forgetting everything like this but all of it still doesn’t seem real. Probably because you haven’t actually seen or held your son in your own arms. Your stitches are healing nicely but your body still seems to think it’s pregnant and that stirs up even more conflicting emotions.

“Be a good girl for your daddy and Ella, okay my sweet?”

“Okay. Can you give my brother a kiss for me?”

“We will, Lily. We love you so much.”

You and Luke tried to occupy your time by watching tv but you’re only watching the bodies move across the screen. You nod on and off but always jerk awake in case you miss the doctor or nurse coming in. Luke comforts you each time, assuring you that there’s no change and points to the screen where you can see your son.

The circles under his eyes only seem to darken with each passing minute. He helps you walk to the bathroom and back into bed. You try telling him he can go home to shower and get more clothes but he refuses.

“I’m not leaving you or our son until I know he’s okay.”

One of your favorite movies is playing on the tv, it’s a black and white film about a couple who adopts a baby girl. It goes through their funny moments trying to figure it all out but it ends tragically with the little girl getting sick. You drifted off before it came to that part and then you were shaken awake by Luke.

Dr. Wilson enters the room with a big smile on her face. You and Luke take hold of each other’s hands, holding onto each other in desperation.

“He’s in the clear. His oxygen levels have elevated and he has a steady heartbeat. It’s still going to be a while until you’ll be able to take him home, he’s still at risk for a lot of infection and we want to make sure his organs continue to develop correctly,” Dr. Wilson explains.

“He’s okay?” you whisper.

“He is. He’s a little warrior.”

“When…when can we see him?” Luke asks.

“Let me check on your stitches first, and if they look all right I can take you down now, if you’d like.”

“Please, please,” you nod scrambling to move your blankets off you.

**

Luke is wheeling you down the brightly lit hallway in the NICU ward, you see other parents hovering around the incubator their baby is in. You and Luke had to be fitted into the light pink gowns with masks and gloves before you could see your son. You were more than okay wearing the odd things if it meant being able to finally see him.

Luke rolls you in between families until Dr. Wilson stops at the last station near the window. A nurse is standing by writing down something on a chart and then you’re right next to his incubator. First, all you can see is a mountain of swaddled blankets with tubes and wires sticking out from every direction. Then you see slight movement and you lean forward and come face to face with your baby.

Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you stare at him. He looks like he could just barely fit in your palms, you see the quick flutter of his heart through his thin chest that has wired tape. You press your hands to the reinforced plastic, the warmth from the light radiates through the gloves.

“Hi, my baby boy, I’m your mama,” you whisper and you’re aching to touch him. You see the two round openings for hands and you move your hands before looking to Dr. Wilson.

“You can touch him, let him know you’re here,” she encourages.

Very carefully, you insert your arm stretching your finger to his small body. You press against his cheek as lightly as you can, he’s warm and that makes you feel better.

“Hi sweetheart,” you continue to talk to him and you hear Luke sniff behind you. “You’re doing so well. Keep it up so you can get big and strong and we can take you home to your big sisters. Your daddy’s here, too.”

Dr. Wilson moves and Luke takes her place. He puts his arm through the opening and strokes his finger down your son’s arm. Your baby trembles a little then leans into your touches. You can’t help the wet smile from forming, he’s perfect. You rub at his forehead gently.

“We need to name him,” you say looking across globe of your son’s new home.

“I haven’t…do you have a name?”

“One popped in my head just now.”

“What is it?”

“Oliver,” you smile glancing down at him. “I was searching through names online and this one stuck out at me. It has a lot of meanings like peace, wisdom, health, and luck.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Luke smiles. “I know he’s only 24 hours old, but he seems very wise to me, don’t you think?”

“Wise and healthy.”

**

Tension has been high between you and Luke. You were at the hospital for a week and a few days more because you had contracted an infection at your incision site. It’s pretty common for an infection but that meant you couldn’t go visit Oliver. Once your infection was cleared you were discharged to go home.

You and Luke moved around each other like orbits just passing by. When you wake in the morning you move about the room like robots, barely looking at each other until you’re ready to go. Cory, Ashton, and the others stayed with Lily and Posy during the day while the both of you went to the hospital to visit Oliver. You missed Lily and Posy terribly and only saw them when they were fast asleep by the time you got home. 

You’d even forgotten about Posy’s birthday and it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Your hormones are abnormal and your body still feels like it’s pregnant even though you know you’re not. It’s a weird feeling, it’s a sad feeling because you can’t even hold your baby that is no longer inside your stomach. 

To your surprise, Ashton and KayKay had orchestrated Posy’s birthday for you and Luke. 

“We have to put on a happy face for Po,” Luke says softly on the morning of her birthday.

Your bodies are set to an automatic alarm because of the hospital visits. You’re staring at the ceiling then roll over to face Luke who is also facing the ceiling with his hands behind his head. You take in his profile, the sharp angle of his nose, his full beard and the smooth skin of his arms over lean muscles. It’s been so long since you’ve touched each other. 

Does he miss you too?

“I’m trying to,” you whisper and silently beg him to look at you. To kiss you. To hold you. To tell you that everything is going to be all right.

Instead, he sighs then rolls out of bed. You watch the muscles in his back pull and tighten when he puts on a t-shirt and heads into the bathroom. You flick your eyes back to the ceiling, swiping away the tears that fall anyway. You’re only allowing yourself those two tears because you know you won’t stop once you start. 

Luke can’t see you break. Lily and Posy can’t see you break. 

“Ash said he and KayKay will be here at ten to start decorating. I want to make the girls breakfast, hopefully make up for lost time,” Luke announces out of the bathroom. 

“Good idea,” you nod then will yourself out of bed. You force yourself to not touch your belly, but like every morning, you always do. It’s still a little swollen from the pregnancy and the incision, but you know it’s empty. 

Before you grab your satin robe, you glance at Luke who had his eyes fixed on your hands over your belly. He meets your eyes for a moment, looks like he’s about to say something, but he leaves the room. 

You’re tired of feeling broken and empty.

**

The girls were ecstatic waking up to you and Luke. Posy was situated on Luke’s hip as he made her favorite breakfast and Lily filled you in on what’s going on at school and with Roman. She talked until Ashton and KayKay arrived and your heart had sunk all the way to your stomach because of how much you’ve missed in Lily and Posy’s life the last few weeks. 

You helped where you could with the decorations and then you remembered Posy wanted a dinosaur cake but before you could panic, Cory and Ella arrived with the cake. 

You tried to keep on a brave face throughout the party. You helped Posy open her presents, you talked with your friends and family. You couldn’t help the way your eyes gravitated towards Ella who is about 35 weeks along now. 

It’s another reminder that you aren’t pregnant and that your baby is in critical condition. You shake it off because you have to. Your phone sends you updates on Oliver by the hour, and he’s remained stable for the whole day which is improvement. 

“Thank you so much for doing all of this,” you tell Ashton and KayKay as they’re leaving. Aside from Cory and Ella, they’re the last to leave.

“No problem at all,” Ashton smiles pulling you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head. “We’re more than happy to help. We’ll plan another one when our boy Oliver is home.”

“We’re all here for you, love you,” KayKay smiles and wraps you in her arms. 

“We love you, too.”

“Unca Ash bye-bye?” Posy asks next to you. She looks up at Ashton with big puppy eyes, her arms up. 

“Yeah, little one. We need to go to bed, just like you!” he lifts her in his arms and blows raspberry kisses on her cheek. “Did you have fun at your party?”

“Yeah!” she claps her hands. 

“Good! Now, you go to bed like mama says and we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Otay.”

“Love you.”

“Luh you,” she sings and hugs his neck while KayKay takes her hand and kisses her fingers. 

“Let’s go to bed, Pose,” you take her from Ashton then wave one last time as they head out the door. 

“I’ll be outside, babe. My feet are killing me,” Ella tells Cory then she moves to you with Lily’s hand in hers. “We’ll be here bright and early so you can go see how Oliver’s doing.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we’re--”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s what families do. Try and get some sleep tonight,” Ella touches your arm, her face turns into a frown. “You look exhausted.”

“I’ll try.”

You know you won’t. 

She kisses Posy and gives Lily one more hug then waddles outside to the car. Cory and Luke are cleaning up last call cups and you take your girls to their rooms to do their bedtime routine. You try and keep Posy in your arms as long as you can, hugging her and loving on her. 

She doesn’t even make it halfway through her favorite book, Where the Wild Things Are, and then you take Lily into her room. 

“When can I see my brother?” she asks as you tuck her in. 

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart,” you reply sadly, “he needs to get better first. Dada and I talk about you and Posy all the time to him.”

“You do?” her eyes widen in amazement. “Can I bring him a present?”

“I think he’d like that very much.”

“Mama?” 

“Hm?” you tuck her snuffy and bunny next to her under the covers. 

“I missed you,” she says quietly.

Your heart jolts. You stop fixing up her toys and look down at Lily, your first baby, and she’s playing with the ear of her bunny. The pink bunny she’s had since she first met Luke.

“I miss you, too. I’m so sorry we haven’t been here with you and Posy. Dada and I are going to fix that, okay?” you ask and she nods. You lean down to give her a kiss and a hug, her arms tighten around your neck.

You don’t let go until she does. You shut off her light and close the door, with just a small crack left open. You’re going to talk to Luke, you’ve decided as you head back downstairs. You tried having just one of you go to the hospital while the other stayed home with the girls but neither one of you wanted to be away if Oliver’s health took a turn. 

Just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you hear your name between Luke and Cory. 

“Y/N’s in bad shape,” Cory says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“This has happened before, where she shuts down and tries to fix it herself but she can’t.”

“I know that, too, considering she’s my wife.” Luke’s voice is clipped, each word sharp as a knife. You’re shocked at it; he and Cory have always been on good terms with each other. 

“Have you tried talking to her about it? Because the way you two were acting tonight was like you didn’t even want to be near each other. She doesn’t need that, not right now when--”

“Look, I know you and Y/N have a close bond. It’s something I’ve tried to understand but I can’t and there’s nothing I can do to change that. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did in the beginning, but I don’t need your advice on how to help my wife.”

What did he mean ‘in the beginning’?

“Yeah? You had no problem taking my help when you broke up with her those three months,” Cory’s voice now has more of an edge to it. 

“I’m surprised you helped in the first place. You think I didn’t notice how you looked at her? We’re handling this on our own.”

“You’re not handling anything! Neither of you are! Yeah, I care about Y/N, that won’t ever change and she’s hurting. Bad. If you won’t do something about it, then I will.”

“The hell you will. I appreciate all you’ve done for my family, but you’re crossing a line.”

“Stop.” 

You whisper the word as you stand in front of them but it catches their attention. Luke’s hands are balled into fists at his sides and Cory’s body is in a similar defense stance. They look to you.

“I am trying, okay? I’m trying to stay strong and hopeful for Oliver. I’m trying to keep on a brave face for Lily and Posy. I’m trying to decipher which feelings I should be feeling or which ones are still phantom pregnancy ones and I don’t even know if those are real. My body has already fallen apart, I don’t need my family to as well.”

“Y/N.”

“I feel horrible that I forgot Posy’s birthday. How could I forget that? My mind is constantly running and I’m so exhausted but I can’t sleep because I’m worrying. Please don’t fight, I can’t handle it.”

“Y/N... what can I do?” Cory asks almost pleadingly. 

Luke scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I think you should go home. I know you mean well, Cory, but you don’t want to keep Ella waiting in the car.”

“I can--”

“Just go, Cory,” you say in a softer tone. You glance to Luke who is pointedly staring at a spot on the wall then look back to Cory. “Luke and I need to talk.”

Cory keeps staring at you as if checking that you really want him to leave. You nod. He sighs. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he steps away from Luke then grabs your hand. “Call if you need anything.” He gives you a squeeze as you nod at his offer. 

The door closes with a soft snap and it’s just you and Luke now, all of your demons joined together. 

“What did you mean when you said, ‘it didn’t bother you like in the beginning’?” 

“I can’t talk about this now,” he shakes his head and shuffles towards the basement door where his music room is.

Good. It’s soundproof and if there will be yelling, it won’t wake the girls. You follow him downstairs.

“We are going to talk about this now. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with you and I don’t know what to do! We don’t talk about Oliver, so let’s talk about you and Cory!” you follow him until he turns around quickly. His eyes ablaze.

“No, let’s talk about you and Cory. You’re only talking to him about Oliver. You called him right after everything happened.”

“Because he had Lily! You called everyone else!”

“None of them are in love with you!”

“WHAT?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“When we started dating, I had a feeling Cory still loved you. I saw it in the way he looked at you and he’s been looking at you that same way now. You don’t talk to me about Oliver, you talk to him. How do you think that makes me feel? Oliver is our son.”

“I try to talk to you! But you always pull away! He doesn’t love me like you think he does, and the fact you’re bringing this up now, years later, is ridiculous.”

“Right,” he snorts, “it’s ridiculous that the ex of my wife who is the father of her child still loves you.”

“Yes!” you screech and fist your hands in the air in frustration. “Do you even hear yourself? He’s engaged to Ella. He’s having a baby with Ella!”

“Then why do you talk to him about Oliver and not me? Huh?” he advances towards you, towering over you. 

“Because I blame myself every day that this happened and you do, too. You can’t even look at me and I…” you choke on your words; Luke’s hardened expression softens as your words sink in. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

Then you’re gasping for air as the tears you’ve been bottling up come crashing down. Your weird emotions, your worry, your fear, everything you’ve been feeling finally falls out in the open. It crashes between you and Luke like a tidal wave. Your body feels weak and you almost collapse onto the small couch but Luke grabs hold of your waist, his other hand cupping your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me,” he rushes out. “I don’t blame you; I could never blame you. This isn’t your fault; do you hear me?” his eyes have a half-crazed look in them and somehow that grounds you.

“W-why wo-won’t you l-l-look at m-me?” you sob coughing out the words. 

“Oh, baby,” he sighs then awkwardly shifts around until you fall on top of him on the couch. He holds you tight against him. You’re immediate to wrap yourself around him like a pretzel “It’s because I don’t know what to say. I wish I could make this all better, make Oliver healthy, take all your pain away. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now and it kills me to see you like this.”

“I’m a horrible mom,” you cry harshly into his chest. 

Luke pushes you off of him and he’s blurred through your tears. 

“Don’t you ever say that again. You give everything and a million times more in love to our children. I see how hard you’re trying to keep it together, and it kills me.”

“I’m s--”

Luke mashes his lips to yours and you close your eyes. It’s wet and salty, it tastes of heartache and regret and yet his kiss feels like home. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he mumbles. “Stop--” he kisses you again “--just stop--” he kisses you once more with his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You wanted to be closer to him, feel every part of him touch every part of you but you aren’t past the six weeks mark yet. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you, too. Let’s take a warm shower and talk things out.”

After a warm shower of kisses and roaming hands, you snuggled against Luke in your bed and tried to come up with a plan where you could be home and at the hospital equally. And you both decided that as soon as Dr. Wilson gives the okay, you’re going to bring the girls to meet him.

When you’ve talked and finalized plans, you gaze at Luke as his eyes start to close. You stroke the slope of his nose, itching to ask him about the fight he had with Cory earlier. You open your mouth to ask and then close it just as quickly. Luke’s eyes open up and he pulls you against him, his fingers tickle the skin of your back. 

“I know you want to ask, so ask.”

“Why do you think Cory is still in love with me?”

He sighs heavily.

“I don’t. I guess I went back to old thoughts and insecurities.”

“So, you thought he still was at one point?”

“I knew he was because he told me. When we weren’t together those three months, he came by and told me how you and Lily were doing. The way he looked at you...it’s how I look at you. And when he tried to help us tonight…” he closes his eyes and shakes his head in embarrassment. “I was stupid. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way for so long,” you caress his bearded cheek.

“I honestly don’t think about it anymore, it just sprung up in my mind tonight,” he sighs. “I appreciate everything Cory’s been doing. I’ll call him tomorrow and apologize.”

“You know how much I love you?” your fingers brush his damp curls from his forehead that you press your lips too. You breathe in his shampoo, his skin soft and his own fingers slip under your shirt to keep caressing your back.

“About as much as I love you.”

He kisses your chin as you kiss his cheek and eventually your lips find each other.

**

It’s been a month and Oliver is still in the hospital. He’s progressing well and getting stronger every day. Posy and Lily were able to come visit him with Michael and Calum in tow. Posy ran to Luke who he picked up and peppered kisses to her cheeks and Lily ran to you with a little gift bag in her hands.

“What’s this?” you ask her as Luke points Oliver out to Posy, Calum, and Michael.

“Unca Mikey said this will help Oliver feel better,” Lily pulls out a small green octopus.

“I read online that it helps them feel comforted if they can’t be held yet,” Michael explains and you give him a smile.

“Can we give it to him mama?” Lily asks setting the bag on the floor.

“I think that’s a great idea,” you kiss her cheek then stand. “Let’s head inside.”

When you’re all gathered around Oliver, Calum lifts Lily in his arms so she can see him from up above and you slip the little octopus inside the round hole. You press it under his arm delicately, his tiny, tiny fingers latch on to one of the tentacles.

“Baby!” Posy points.

“He likes it!” Lily exclaims and Calum grins at her.

“Of course, he does, it’s from you and Po,” Calum says.

“And me,” Michael grumbles stepping a little closer to the incubator. His eyes soften when he looks over his nephew and you can almost sense his sadness.

“Thank you for getting it for him,” you link your arm through his and rest your head against his shoulder. “It was very thoughtful.”

“How long do you think it will be until you can bring him home?” Michael asks watching his tiny chest flutter with each breath.

“Until he’s at a healthy weight and can be taken off the ventilator,” Luke answers.

“Is he going to sleep with me?” Lily asks.

You and Luke share a look. You hadn’t thought about that. Before all of this happened, you still had a lot of time before you got his nursery ready. There is the playroom you could transform into a nursery…

“No, he’ll have his own room, sweets. When he’s home he might cry a lot and wake you up at night.”

“That’s okay. I can help.”

“You’re the best big sister ever, you know that?” Calum looks to her and she smiles sheepishly.

“Would Crystal help us change the playroom into a nursery?” you ask Michael.

“Definitely.”

“I think we should tell them his middle name,” Luke smiles at you.

“What is it?” Calum asks.

“Well, we decided on Michael,” you grin at Michael whose eyes widen. “You jump started us trying for another baby and when we decided on it Oliver sneezed. So, he likes it and it fits him perfectly.”

“Oliver Michael…” Calum tests it out then nods. “Yeah, sounds good to me. If you guys have another one, Calum’s a pretty kick ass name.”

“That means a lot guys, thank you,” Michael shifts his arm so he can pull you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head.

**

A few weeks later, Ella had her beautiful baby girl, Violetta. You wanted to give them some time alone before bringing the girls over to their house to meet her. Lily sat on the couch with Violetta resting on a pillow on her lap and Posy sat next to her, staring at Violetta with curious eyes. It was odd to see the size difference between her and Oliver.

“She’s beautiful,” you tell Ella. She just took a photo of the three girls together.

“Thank you. I can’t believe she’s finally here,” she sighs tiredly then glances to Luke and Cory who are talking outside. “Cory told me what happened after Posy’s birthday.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “he did, did he?”

“I know you two have a special bond, you have a history and Lily…I’m sorry that things escalated like that. How’s Luke?”

“He’s okay now, we talked about it. Ella, I hope you know that I don’t love Cory how I love Luke.”

“Oh, I know! We’re all a big, blended family, sometimes things get messy but I’ve never had a big family before. I adore you and Luke. I’m not upset at all, I understand.”

“Good. We adore you, too,” you smile then gaze at Violetta. You see more of Ella in her than Cory but she also resembles Lily a little.

“Would you like to hold her?” Ella asks gently.

“I’d love to,” you smile then push her back in her seat. “Rest, I bet you’re still sore. Lily, I’m going to hold your new sister now, okay? Why don’t you and Posy go play for a little bit.”

You lift Violetta off of Lily’s lap and the two girls run into Lily’s room. Violetta rests comfortably in the crook of your arm, she sleeps peacefully as you sway from side to side.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you coo. “You are such a pretty little one, aren’t you? Yeah, you get that from your mommy.”

“How’s Oliver doing?”

“Better, they’re talking about taking him off the ventilator soon and see how he does. He’s gaining more weight, not as fast as they want but it’s something,” you smile.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. And you and Luke?”

“We’re…coping. We’re still trying to find the balance between the hospital and home, but now that Lily’s out of school it’s much easier to come and go.”

“If you and Luke ever want to take a long weekend, the girls can stay here.”

“Oh, no, not with Violetta just being born! I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed—”

“I insist. It will give me practice if we have more kids,” Ella smiles.

“We’ll be outnumbered then,” you laugh. “The kid to adult ratio is even now.”

“You’re right,” Ella laughs. “They’re going to rule our world.”

“I don’t mind, they’re pretty awesome,” you shrug and gaze down at Violetta. You hope you’ll be able to hold Oliver like this soon.

**

Luke’s birthday is approaching and he’s told you repeatedly he doesn’t want a big party or anything this year. The only thing he wants is to hopefully bring Oliver home by the end of the month. You were finally able to hold him and have some skin-to-skin contact.

You sat in the rocking chair next to his incubator and the nurse placed him on your chest. His skin is warm and beneath the starchy hospital smell, he had that natural smell all babies have. You couldn’t help but cry after finally holding him after almost three months of just looking at him. His fingers flexed on your chest before you slipped your pinky between them. He held on tightly.

“Hi baby boy,” you whisper kissing the top of his little hat. “Remember me?”

“How does he feel?” Luke asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“He’s that piece I’ve been missing.”

You could sit there for hours just holding him but you know how badly Luke wanted to hold his son so you changed places. He unbuttoned his shirt and the nurse helped you place Oliver on his chest.

“He’s so small,” Luke smiles fondly. “Hi buddy, I’m your daddy. You’re doing so good getting all big and strong. Your mama and I can’t wait to take you home. We’re going to have a big party, but I promise I’ll make everyone keep it quiet.”

“It’s nice to see you holding him,” you sniff and he starts to rock.

“It was nice to see you hold him, too,” he smiles. “We’ll take him home soon. We’re almost there.”

**

On Luke’s birthday, you and the girls surprised him with breakfast in bed and a brand-new record collection he’s been talking about. Michael and Crystal offered to watch the girls while you visited Oliver. You promised you’d be back by dinner time and you secretly arranged Luke’s favorite food to be delivered.

The two of you sat with Oliver and talked about how far he’s come along. He’s at four pounds already and is now in an open crib rather than an incubator. His organs have developed how they should and he’s had no complications. Dr. Chambers wants him to stay until he’s five pounds just to be sure he’s still gaining weight like he should.

The nurse told you you could try and start breast feeding him soon.

With multiple kisses to Oliver, you left him for the night to continue Luke’s birthday at home. Michael told you the girls wanted to bake a cake and he sent you photos and videos of the whole experience. You couldn’t wait to surprise Luke with the meal.

When you got home you noticed Michael’s car was gone and the house was quiet. There was a big balloon on the kitchen table next to the delivery bag of Luke’s favorite restaurant and the cake the girls made along with a note.

“’Our birthday gift to you is two things: a night alone and a new room. Enjoy your birthday! Love Michael and Crystal,’” Luke reads off from a note. He turns to you with a lopsided smile.

“A new room? What does that mean?” you examine the note.

“It better not be some kinky sex room,” Luke mutters and you nudge him in the shoulder. “Let’s go explore.”

He takes you by the hand and you make your way upstairs to the bedrooms. The light of the playroom is on so you turn in there and gasp. It’s been transformed into Oliver’s room. There’s a beautiful white crib filled with small stuffed animals and a dinosaur blanket. His name is above his crib in block letters and there’s a bookshelf with some trinkets and books.

You page through them and see each one was given to you by your friends with a little message written inside for Oliver. You can’t wait to have Oliver in here, safe and warm.

“I have a feeling Michael is going to spoil Oliver.”

“Probably,” you giggle and turn to face him. He’s looking at the other shelf that holds some clothes and blankets.

His shoulders are broad in his simple black shirt, his curls have gotten curlier because he’s let his hair grow out along with his beard. Your stomach flips as a dirty thought of feeling his beard on the inside of your thighs enters your mind. How’d you get so lucky to have this strong, handsome, talented, kind man to be your husband?

“They’re spoiling us too, you know,” you step closer to him tickling your fingers up and down his arm. He looks down at you. “We have the whole house to ourselves birthday man. What do you want to do first?”

“I’d love to do you.”

You’re both careful as you get reacquainted with each other’s bodies. He removes your clothes carefully and you fall onto your bed, arms stretched out for him. You watch him with hungry eyes as he removes his own clothes then climbs over you. Before he can kiss you, you press your palms against his chest and stomach, feeling his heartbeat and warmth of his body.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” you sigh leaning up to kiss his collarbone.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” he repeats and pushes you back. He falls with you, pulling deep kisses from you before leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body. He makes sure to kiss at the scar from your C-section. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”

“Have I told you how much I love your beard?” you ask scratching your nails through the soft hair. “It’s very sexy.”

“Yeah? I don’t look like a lumberjack?”

“You’d make a sexy lumberjack. I wouldn’t complain.”

Soft loving words are exchanged along with wandering hands as he works you up. When you finally connect, you sigh and squeeze your nails into his shoulders. His thrusts are shallow and controlled making sure not to hurt you but also wanting to make this reconnection last.

“Feels so good to be in you again,” he mumbles in your neck. You glide your hands down his back and to the globes of his ass, you give a squeeze and try to make him move faster. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you sigh turning your head and your tongues connect.

It’s gentle and intimate and your orgasm is slow building but when it washes over you, you’re left in a warmth that you’ve been craving. It’s a warmth only Luke can provide, it’s his love and your love coming together.

Afterwards, you heat up the food and eat it in bed along with the cake. Being cheeky, you swipe the frosting on your finger and drag it onto his stomach.

“Who’s gonna clean that up?”

“Mmm, me,” you straddle his thighs, the shirt of his you wear to bed rides up and you press your hands onto his waist. You lean down and lick the frosting up with your tongue, he sighs heavily beneath you as you lick some more.

When he’s finally clean, your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxers continuing your kisses to his half hard cock. You swipe your tongue over his shaft, circling it around his tip and he springs to life.

“Lovie…” he groans.

“Shh,” you hush glancing up at him. His chest is heaving as you take him in your mouth. He groans again, his fingers tangling in your hair but letting you move as you see fit.

You love pleasuring him this way and it’s been so long since you have. You bob up and down, your spit dribbling down his shaft. He moans with each pull of your mouth, his hips rising to meet your motions. You feel his thighs clench so you know he’s close.

“Y/N…baby…lovie,” he pulls you off him then drags you up to him. “Wanna make you come again.”

He pushes himself inside you and you let out a loud moan as you sink down onto him. You start to move but Luke grips the sides of your ass and fucks up into you. Your mouth falls open at the pace, his balls slap your ass and your toes start to curl.

You’re chanting ‘yes’ and his name, the words tumbling over one another and you’re coming again. With a small scream you feel Luke pull out as his release is expelled between you. You’re pulsating and his fingers twiddle with your clit so you’re still coming together.

When you’re both finished, your breathing is hard and you giggle when you open your eyes. His cheeks are a little pink and he has this glazed over expression on his face.

“I think we should go clean up, hm?” his fingers tickle your thigh and you tremble at his touch. You nod.

You used a washcloth to clean up leftover frosting and his orgasm. Luke kisses your neck and your shoulders before he moves to the large tub and turns the taps. When the tub is full of bubbles and the jets are on, he holds you in his arms. The records you bought playing softly in the background.

“This reminds me of when we first started dating,” you say playing with his fingers. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

“If I had my way I’d want to do this all the time with you,” he chuckles in your ear before nibbling on the lobe. “But we have other responsibilities.”

“We’ll be able to bring Oliver home soon, right?”

“Of course, we will. This is just temporary until he’s five pounds. You’re going to be able to breastfeed and he’ll gain that one pound so fast.” He kisses your temple next and you sit in silence for a while.

“Did you imagine any of this happening when you met me at the coffee shop?”

“No, but I wouldn’t want my life any other way. You’ve filled my life with so much adventure and love. I never pictured myself with three kids, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them, or you. Did you imagine our life like this?”

“No,” you smile against his arm and kiss it. “But it’s the best. I’m thankful Oliver has come along this far, and Posy is our rambunctious girl and Lily is starting to become her own person now. It’s all happening so fast but with you beside me…I don’t have enough words to describe it. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re the love of mine,” he collects you in his arms. “We’ll bring our boy home soon.”

**

On August first, you were told you could bring Oliver home. You couldn’t even believe it but when Oliver’s NICU team and Dr. Chambers and Dr. Wilson showed up with balloons and a farewell card you started to cry. You hugged and thanked them all from the bottom of your heart and promised to keep in touch.

Oliver would need frequent doctor visits until he was about three to check his prognosis but you were so happy to bring him home finally. Luke called everyone while you got Oliver settled in his carrier, you made sure to put his octopus next to him. You sat in back with him while Luke drove, you couldn’t stop looking at Oliver. He’s grown so much and he’s healthy and strong.

You notice all of the cars parked along the street and you’re welcomed with your family as you and Luke enter your home. There’s a banner above welcoming Oliver home finally. You appreciated them all keeping their distance and not overcrowding Oliver, but you were happy they were all there to welcome your sone home.

Lily and Posy couldn’t stop looking at him in his carrier while he slept and Posy kept bringing some toys to show him. Everyone stayed for another hour and then you had to feed Oliver. He squirmed and cried because you woke him but you were on a tight feeding schedule so he would stay on track. Lily and Posy watched curiously as you breastfed. Luke watched fondly and then he told the girls their lunch was ready.

All four of you stayed around Oliver until it was time for him to go to bed—then you’d be feeding him in a few hours. Posy and Lily snuggled with you and Luke on the couch as you all watched a movie, their giggles at the animations jokes filled your heart with joy. Luke reached over and took your hand so he could kiss it, mumbling an ‘I love you.’

You were finally a family of five, home and safe.

***

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[nordleuchten]

heyy, gm/gn wherever you are!

So, I'd like to know Adrienne and Gilbert dealt with her being sick during their imprisonment in Olmutz? And also, how were their daughters during all of that??

Thank youu :)

Hello msrandonstuff,

Thank you, it was actually morning for me, when I read your message.

Adrienne’s time in prison and her health are best described by her daughter Virginie in the book that the two women co-wrote (each of them wrote about their mother respectively). In the second half (Virginie’s half) of Life of Madame de Lafayette we can read the following:

As might have been expected, my mother's health had suffered much. The sudden passage from the most violent agitations to the most sedentary life, for we had neither air nor exercise, all contributed to give her an illness which declared itself a few months after our arrival. Never did she show more meritorious submission to my father's wishes, than when she determined to write to the Emperor for permission to go and consult the doctors at Vienna. She only consented to do so in the hopes of being of use to the prisoners'. At the end of seven weeks the Commander of Olmütz, who had not yet visited her in prison, came to intimate a verbal refusal to leave it, unless she gave up all hopes of returning. He asked at the same time for a written answer. It was soon made.

Adrienne’s written answer was:

April, 4th 1796.

The Commander of Olmütz having declared to me that, on my request to go for a week to Vienna in order to consult the doctors, His Imperial Majesty does not permit me, under any pretence whatever to go to Vienna, and only allows me to leave this prison on condition never to enter it again, I have the honor here to renew my answer. It was my duty towards my family and friends to try and obtain the advice necessary for my health, but they well know that I cannot accept the conditions offered to me. I cannot forget that while we were both on the eve of perishing, I through the tyranny of Robespierre, M. de Lafayette through the physical and moral sufferings of his captivity, I was neither allowed to receive any accounts of him, nor to let him know that his children and I were still alive. I shall not expose myself to the horrors of another separation.

Therefore, whatever may be the state of my health, or the hardships of this abode for my daughters, we shall all three take advantage of His Imperial Majesty's goodness in allowing us to share this captivity in all its details.

Noailles Lafayette.

The letter that Adrienne send to the Emperor is also printed in the book:

Olmütz, February 6th 1796

Sir,

Had I sooner been given leave to write, I should long since have offered my grateful thanks to Your Imperial Majesty for having permitted us to share the captivity of one so dear. To these thanks, Sir, I shall add no details on M. de Lafayette's condition, however different it may be from what I imagined on leaving Your Majesty's presence; to my great regret, I shall only speak of myself. My health, impaired by sufferings and misfortunes, my duty towards those who are still left to me in this world, constrain me to solicit permission to go for some days to Vienna, leaving my daughters with their father, in order to consult doctors on my state. I should not have importuned Your Majesty with this request, had I not been told that it could only be granted by Yourself.

I entreat, etc.

Continuing in her daughters book, we can read:

My mother's illness made rapid progress. The doctor was only allowed to see her a moment during the officer's visit. Being ignorant of the French language, he could not understand her, but would express in Latin his fears to my father. She had a violent eruption, first on her arms, which swelled in such a manner that she could neither make use of them nor lift them up, and afterwards on her legs. Fever scarcely ever left her. This state lasted eleven months, from October 1796, till September 1797. During these eleven months no alleviation of the prison treatment was obtained. She had not even an armchair. Her sufferings did not in the least impair her spirits. Seeing her always serene, always enjoying my father's company and the consolations she had brought with her, we were all less anxious than we ought to have been. This explains how, save in the beginning of the illness, we found pleasure in our quiet life.

As we can see, there was not an awful lot that either Adrienne or La Fayette could possible do. We see from Virginie’s writing (but also from other statements) that La Fayette urged and pleaded with Adrienne that she should leave with their daughters but Adrienne (and Anastasie and Virginie) refused and I think at a certain point in time La Fayette just gave up trying. Their company brought him an immense relief and a great deal of comfort after all.

The question remains, why was Adrienne not permitted to visit the doctors in Vienna and than to simply return to the prison? After all, she and her daughters had been already granted access. The answer is, the woman’s presence shed a very bad light on the Austrians. La Fayette had been imprisoned, without actual charges, but he was a men, he was a soldier, a revolutionary – Austria could find ways to justify his imprisonment. But Adrienne, Virginie and Anastasie were woman, young children, they were pious and virtuous woman of noble birth, sharing their husband and fathers captivity despite their own sufferings – that caused quite a stir in Europe at the time and I think the Emperor was happy for very change to get them out of his prison without making himself looking even worse.

As to Virginie’s and Anastasie’s health, it seems as if they did rather well. In his first letter to Washington after being released from prison, La Fayette writes on October 6, 1797:

My own Health, altho it is Impaird, Could, I think, tolerably Support a Voyage [to America] —My daughters are not ill—But Mrs Lafayette’s Sufferings in this Cruel UnHealthy Captivity Have Had Such a deplorable effect Upon Her, that in the opinion of Every phisician, and Every Man of Sense, it Would Be an Act of Madness to Let Her embark at this Advanced Season of the Year (...)

Most other accounts agree with that narrative. Adrienne was seriously ill, La Fayette was not well but ultimately fine and their daughters were healthy. I have only ever come across one account that said that one of the two sisters was ill as well, without going into detail which one. I think that account was from one of their aunts but I can not remember, I am sorry!

It is however highly unbelievable that Virginia and Anastasie never once did fell ill during their time in prison. Even their “luxury-treatment” (the guard had an awful lot of pity for them) was terrible but their illnesses were probably never long-lasting or overly concerning.

I hope that could answer your question and I hope you had/have an amazing day!